


of crown-stealing crows

by restartmyheart



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anonymous AU, Bisexual Callum Hunt, Call is a democrat and you know it, Canon Disabled Character, Family, Friendship, Gen, Insecurity, M/M, Master William Rufus is kinda nice because i physically cannot write mean people, Modern Royalty, Politics, Princess Diaries AU, aka when two people start talking online but they don't know they know eachother irl, and they fall in love cuz duh, in this house we stan alastair, tried to write this in a funnier way and it did not work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24127846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restartmyheart/pseuds/restartmyheart
Summary: In which Call Hunt finds out he's a prince, and it all goes downhill from there.aka, in which Call's a bisexual disaster, a chaotic flirt, and questioning his entire sense of self. in that order, and all at once.
Relationships: Alastair Hunt & Callum Hunt, Callum Hunt & Aaron Stewart, Callum Hunt & Tamara Rajavi, Callum Hunt & William Rufus, Callum Hunt/Aaron Stewart, Jasper deWinter & Callum Hunt
Comments: 54
Kudos: 88





	1. surfacing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Crowning Chaos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11155887) by [linaseraphina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaseraphina/pseuds/linaseraphina). 



> in which Call's a bisexual disaster, a chaotic flirt, and questioning his entire sense of self. in that order.
> 
> (also, i took tons of creative liberties but when i was stuck on the plot i did look to the movies for inspiration. sue me i plotted this in like 3 days)

The day started as normal for Call Hunt. Sure, the squirrel on his windowsill that morning spat a peanut at him and possibly gave him rabies, but that’s pretty on-brand. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth yet, so it was clearly fine. A lot worse could’ve happened in far less time.

As Call heard the loud engine outside his door, he said a quick goodbye to his father and walked out. Greeted by the telltale BMW of the Rajavi family, he pulled open the door to the backseat and came face to face with his best friend, Tamara.

“Did you hear the news?” She asked him immediately, though she didn’t spare him a glance as he reclined in his seat beside her. She seemed too busy reading an article on her phone. Long before this point, Call had already given up on checking the news himself. If there were anything he should know about, Tamara would be the one to tell him. 

Before he had the chance to open his mouth, Tamara already knew the answer. “King William Rufus announced retirement plans.”

At this, Call raised an eyebrow. Though he would listen to anything she deemed important, they both knew they shared a common preference in sociopolitics. “No way. Isn’t he supposed to wait until he gets an heir?”

“Exactly,” she said, turning to look at him. “Apparently, they found a blood heir.”

“What? No fucking way, _blood?”_

“Yes. _Blood.”_ She said as she leaned in to show him the article. “Everyone thought King Constantine was the last of the Maddens, but they found a blood relative who could take the throne. No one knows who they are or how they’re related. Apparently, they’re supposed to be introduced at the Summer Solstice in June.”

“Wait, so King William is gonna retire so another Madden can rule? House Madden was supposed to stop at Constantine,” he asked, baffled, “And how is there a Madden still alive? All four of them fucking died!”

“Exactly! Do you think they’re lying? Why would they want to lie?”

Call scoffed, “If I were a Genovian, I’m pretty sure I’d feel better not being ruled by the relative of a tyrant.”

He heard her sigh. Call leaned back in his seat, deciding to milk the time he had left before school started. “Well, anything else?” he asked. Immediately he internally groaned as he began to regret it. He could feel the smile growing on her face.

“There’s one other thing,” she smiled in a way that made him grimace, “Who are you asking to prom?”

He groaned out loud, “Anything other than that?”

She smiled wider, enjoying his impending torment. “No, I don’t think so. I think I wanna talk about that, specifically,” she said as she crossed one leg over the other, in that sassy way Call both liked and hated. “Y’know, if you don’t want to grow a pair, there’s always Aaron Stewart.”

“Oh, you’re not even trying,” Call scoffed, crossing his arms, “No way, Tam.”

“Why not? You know he’s got it bad for you. If you had enough balls to ask he might put on a dress for the pictures.” She arched an eyebrow, smirking, “Plus, you already think he’s hot.”

He rolled his eyes, “First, he _doesn’t_ . He’s like, way too straight. And second, he is hot. In fact, _too_ hot.” He grumbled, “All blond hair and green eyes, tall and athletic-- _too perfect_. Something is going on with him, I swear.”

She sat back in her seat, rolling her eyes, “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re jealous or want to hate-fuck him.” She smoothed her uniform down as she saw Magisterium Academy in the distance, “Sometimes you make me think it’s both at once.”

He didn’t bother with his own uniform, preferring the _“Before you ask, I did, in fact, roll out of bed and into this”_ look. As Tamara’s chauffeur opened the door for her, he followed her out on her side, deciding not to face the morning rush on his side. She looked him over quickly, wordlessly reaching up to undo his tie a little more.

“You made it look like you don’t know how to tie a tie, instead of looking like it’s a choice,” she said, pulling away. She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she began to walk inside, Call wordlessly following her in-step.

As they walked to the first period of the day, she whispered to him, “You should try to ask Celia. This might be your last chance, Call.”

He cursed himself as his heart tightened at the mention of her. “There’s just--” he looked her in the eyes, and her genuine expression left him without an excuse. “I just… can’t, Tam.”

She sighed gently, looking at him imploringly. Though, he could see the gentleness in her eyes. “I just don’t want you to regret it if you don’t. I know you’re worried, but I know you want to try.”

They stopped walking as they reached her first class of the day. “See you later, Tam,” he said as he began to walk to his class.

* * *

Throughout the rest of the day, the thought of prom kept sneaking up on him, worming its way into his brain. The pit in his gut twisted when he thought of Celia, his crush since the day she stole his first kiss in middle school.

He knew Tamara was right. If he never asked her, never gave himself the chance, he’d regret it. More than he’d regret anything else in his high school experience. He knows that once he’s out of here he won’t regret not being popular, not being a heartthrob, or not being an athlete. He’s resigned himself to knowing he would never have any of that. If he never gets it he won’t be so surprised, since he already knew he would never have it.

But he’d regret not asking Celia out. Celia, with her cute blonde curls and pretty light eyes. And her bright smile and her sweet words, never looking at him as any less than what he was-- a person. From middle school until now, she never failed in making him feel welcomed. Like people are happy he’s here.

With the desire to ask her out came the feeling of impending doom. Should he risk it, she was most likely going to let him down easy, look at him with a pitying gentleness that would make him want to swallow himself up and spit himself into a drain.

He didn’t know if he wanted to risk it.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of a familiar ringtone, piercing through the teacher’s droning lecture. It took him a good two seconds to realize it was his own. As he scrambled to get his phone out of his pockets, he looked at the caller ID and saw it was his father. Knowing his father only called during class for important things, he was silently grateful to have a nicer teacher for his history class. 

He raised his hand, standing up, “Mr Graves?”

“Yes, Callum?” he answered, too busy writing something on the board to look at him. 

“It’s my dad, can I answer it?”

The teacher flashed a glance at the clock above the door, likely figuring even if Call wasn’t lying, he still wasn’t gonna come back. Call didn’t know if he was right or not yet. Mr Graves sighed, seemingly having come to a decision. “Go ahead.”

Exiting the classroom, he accepted the call. “Hello? Dad?”

“Call?” his father’s voice rang in his ear, “Sorry to disturb you during class, but it’s important.” 

He sounded a little… off. Though Call couldn’t seem to pinpoint it, he thought his father sounded a little ruffled. “Your great-uncle Will came to visit.”

Momentarily, Call thought the expression on his face must’ve looked a lot like that one reaction meme of the blinking guy. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Uncle mafia boss? But he hasn’t called in months. When’s he coming?”

He could hear his father sigh on the other end, “Don’t call him uncle mafia boss, Call. And actually, he’s already here. I needed to tell you to go straight to his house after school. We need to talk to you.”

“What?” Call said, “What is it? And why ‘we’, like as in both of you?”

“Yes, both of us. We’ll answer the rest of your questions then, okay? I’ll see you.”

Then Call heard the line beep, cutting off. He sighed, glaring at the dark screen impatiently. What is his great uncle even doing here? As far as Call knew they were each other’s only living relatives, and even then he hasn’t visited them in person for years. Sometimes he’d send letters that looked machine-printed, even though Call knew that was just his handwriting. But he wouldn’t visit, not in person. That felt awfully suspicious and very mafia boss-like to Call.

Additionally, every once in a while he’d send an expensive gift that was either efficient but blazingly futuristic or was glaringly rich person-like. He wouldn’t forget the day his father was gifted two sets of whiskey stones, one made of 24-carat gold and the other made of soapstone. 

Though Call was always baffled by the gifts, that didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful. That plasma TV he was given on his twelfth birthday was dutifully used every day. It was rather detrimental to his sleep schedule though, so there was that.

Every time he called, he and Alastair would spend a solid half hour whispering to themselves before his father forced him to talk to him. Then there was always ten minutes of awkward, stunted small talk before Uncle Rufus gave him a cat fact, then they started talking for hours. And yes, he may have listened patiently to Call’s rants about Brexit but that didn’t mean they were very close. He barely even remembered what the guy looked like. The mystery the guy was shrouded in alone was mafia boss-like.

Glancing at the door to his history class, he decided that if Mr Graves thought he’d skip class, Call might as well let him be right. He started walking to the school gates, not bothering to wait a few more minutes until class ended. As he rounded the corner, he collided straight first into someone else. The speed they were going caused him to lose balance, plummeting to the floor butt-first. He groaned in pain slightly.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I was just going to the bathroom and--” the person said. He looked up to see Aaron Stewart, all blond hair and green eyes, sputtering nervously. As he caught his eyes, Aaron’s fussing paused for a second.

Call would never admit it out loud before someone gets the wrong idea, but he thought Aaron’s fussing was kind of cute. The flush on the guy’s cheeks only enhanced it. His face seemed to get even redder when he recognized who he’d bumped into.

“I’m so sorry Call!” he said, “It’s my fault, I just wasn’t looking where I was going…” Aaron held out a hand to help Call up, but he refused, preferring to get up on his own. His mood from seeing Aaron’s cute face soured slightly. It’s bad enough Aaron had athleticism, attractiveness and popularity over him-- he didn’t have to be all kind and golden-hearted about it too. To Call, it was less _nice_ and more patronizing.

He dusted himself off as Aaron awkwardly pulled his hand back. “What are you doing outside of class?” Aaron asked. Call raised his brow. “I’m expecting you to know I won’t answer that, considering you’re out here too.”

Aaron frowned. “I was just, uh,” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “Going to get a snack. From the vending machine.”

Call stared at him quietly with a deadpan look, and Aaron seemed to scramble for an excuse. Call wouldn’t buy that shitty delivery for a second. Aaron seemed like the type to be a terrible liar. 

Something’s up.

To avoid the awkward silence, Call knew Aaron would keep talking. The other boy fidgeted in his spot, “My favourite’s the M&M’s, and Mars chocolates.”

Call raised an eyebrow, “That’s good to know and all, but didn’t you say before that you were going to the bathroom?”

Aaron seemed to gulp, “Uh, well, I was gonna do both. So, yeah.” he said, walking off in the direction of the bathroom further away, in the hall Call just came from.

“Hey!” Call called out to him, “Are you not gonna get your snack?”

Aaron paused briefly, looking back at him from over his shoulder, “Uh, I changed my mind!”

Unwilling to leave it at that, Call took a glance at the nearby vending machine, then back at Aaron. “Ugh, fine,” he grumbled to himself. “Aaron, wait a second!”

Knowing he had Aaron’s attention, he walked over to the vending machine and looked for a certain divot in its side. As he located the indent with his right, he placed his other hand on the side of the glass face. He hit the dent with a marginal force as he pulled on the face, popping it open and exposing the snacks within. He took out a Mars bar and pushed the face back where it belonged.

Turning back to Aaron, he couldn’t help but smile at his astonished face. He shoved the chocolate bar into Aaron’s hand. “Don’t rat me out for this, alright?” he said, “There’s something up with you, so this is my one allotted good deed per day.”

Aaron’s jaw was wide open, a pink flush on his cheeks for reasons Call doesn’t know. It took him a second to formulate his words, “I... won’t. I promise.” he said. As Call was about to walk off, Aaron called after him with a wide smile on his face, “Oh and, thank you.”

Call paused, “Uh,” he said intelligently, “No problem.”

As they both went their separate ways, Call was traitorously reminded of what Tamara said earlier that morning. Now, the thought of the resident Mr Perfect refused to leave his mind.

* * *

Uncle Rufus’ “house” wasn’t exactly a house, but more like a penthouse in the most expensive hotel for the nearest two hundred miles. Even from the outside, looking in through clean glass doors it looked like one of the nicest places Call’s ever been in. Well, that he remembers vividly, at least.

As he boldly walked into the hotel lobby, a suit-wearing guard stopped him. “What are you doing here?” the broad-shouldered man asked him, not exactly rude but certainly not kindly. Call fully expected it, but it didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes or crossing his arms. “I’m here because I was invited to dinner. My uncle William Rufus is expecting me.”

Before he could gauge the guard’s reaction, the guard was pushed out of the way by a tall platinum-blond man. Call quickly noticed the man’s gaunt, lightly-scarred face, and if it was anyone else wearing that stark white suit Call would’ve called them a dork. Instead, it just made him look like a Bond villain.

“Hello,” the man said, smiling politely, “You must be Callum Hunt. I’m sorry for my guard’s behaviour. He wasn’t briefed of your appearance when I told him we had a special guest.”

“My name is Joseph,” he said, dark brown or black eyes trained on his face, seemingly studying his features. Call didn’t know what to think of him, or whether or not his sugary smile was more predator-like or genuinely polite. “Your uncle is staying on the top floor. You can visit him now. I’d also like to inform you that you can come and go in my establishment as you please.”

Call narrowed his eyes sceptically, “Can I ask why?”

At this, Joseph chuckled lightly, “I’m sure your uncle will inform you.”

Joseph pointed the way to the elevator, in that weird “Welcome, Master” kind of way, with a slight bow. Call walked across, observing the hotel lobby. It was beautiful, every stone surface made of marble. Most of the floor was carpeted with red velvet that felt luxurious instead of cheap, accenting the white room. The fanciest thing in the lobby seemed to be the white two-tiered fountain, basking in attention in the middle of the room. A statue of a woman sat at the top, her eyes closed. 

He briefly noticed a delicious smell emanating from a place Call assumed was the restaurant. Inside he noted a more “manor” type of decor with burnt sienna and cream walls, a large fireplace and red carpets.

Bypassing the restaurant and the front desk he entered the elevator, scanning the buttons for the top floor. As he pressed the last button, he was surprised that instead of the doors closing, an automated female voice rang out, _“State your name and business, please.”_

“What in the goddamn…?” Call mumbled to himself, confused, “Um, Call Hunt. I want to see my uncle,” he said. This was, apparently, the wrong fucking answer.

The bright cream-coloured lighting in the elevator turned red, and a beeping siren went off. Call stood, shocked and speechless, as guards turned his way and Joseph flashed a look of horror. “Full names!” Joseph screeched at him in a panic. People from the restaurant were beginning to stand, concerned and nearly panicked. “Yours and Rufus’ full names!”

It took Call a long, agonizing second for his body to catch up with his brain. “Callum Hunt! Here to see William Rufus!” he said, voice embarrassingly high in panic.

And suddenly, the police-red lights shut off and returned to its translucent off-white. Inside the elevator, as if to mock him, a tiny light on the panel of buttons turned green. _“We have been expecting you. Esteemed guest William Rufus is waiting for you in floor twenty-six.”_ the automated voice from before said.

Call gripped his heart in his hand as the steel doors slowly closed. His eyes were wide in panic and he had to lean on the elevator wall to catch his breath.

_For fuck’s sake._ He thought, politely.

* * *

Just as the steel doors opened up, Call was seized by a mop of black hair not nearly as unkempt as his and olive skin that was darker than his own. “Jesus Christ, Call! Did something happen in the lobby? Someone told us a security breach happened!”

Call baulked at the idea of having to explain that to his father, “Well…”

Alastair pulled back from examining his son to shoot him an unimpressed face. “Callum Hunt,” his dad said. _Oh no,_ “That wasn’t you, _right?”_

“Uh,” Call scratched the back of his head, “...No…?”

“You’re a better liar than that, Call.” his father sighed at him, “But we can talk about that later, I guess.”

A new voice rang out, “Please, take a seat.”

Callum turned to the source of the voice. A dark-haired man was sitting in the velvet armchair, with umber skin and an aura that screamed regal. “You look better than I last remember, Callum.” he said, sipping on a cup made of fine china, “Let’s have a talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Call be like "i don't like him but just sayin he cute"
> 
> if you noticed how bad my writing was, thank you for making it to this point. from now on I'm pretty sure it'll only get more and more obvious.
> 
> on the other hand, applause to @linaseraphina for generally being an absolute queen. their support and also their work has been the biggest driver of my motivation this whole time :')))


	2. paroxysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> paroxysm  
> (n) sudden outburst of emotion
> 
> Call learns new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know the difference between - and -- (—) so I'll just use both a lot until i figure it out.
> 
> things in this chapter just really don't make sense, but i'll excuse it by saying that's just how life is. i wrote and rewrote so much stuff, so i hope i made more sense out of it. i have a feeling something's still off though.
> 
> enjoy lol

Along with the three of them, there were two other people in the room. They were dressed exactly like the bodyguards back in the lobby, except they acted kind of like butlers.

Call quickly observed how utterly _rich person_ the place looked. It was clearly designed to be more modern, but the room had touches of French or Genovian decor. And it was _huge as hell_ for a goddamn hotel room. In the middle of the room, there sat a large bouquet of multi-coloured roses, held in a vase made of fine china. There was a display of cupcakes, cakes and countless other treats that made his mouth water.

Before Call could look any longer, his father led him away from the display and towards the glass coffee table where his great uncle sat. Behind his uncle, Call immediately noticed the floor-to-ceiling window, showing off the Asheville skyline.

“Is this… the whole floor?” Call asked, doing his best to hide the sound of awe. He didn’t know if it was working or not. His dad smiled at him slightly, “I thought that too. Uncle Rufus hasn’t told me yet, but I think it is.”

Call smiled, but as the bodyguard-butler people pulled out his and his father’s seats, his smile disappeared. Due to the table’s irregular shape, he sat more in his uncle’s view than his father’s but came face to face with the perfect view of the window.

“Um,” Call said intelligently, “It’s, uh… hi.”

Uncle Rufus quirked his eyebrows up in a way Call hoped was unintentional, “Hi?” he said, before breathing air into his teacup. Like what you do when you see a meme that’s kinda funny, but not funny enough to actually laugh at it. “I’m glad to see you, Callum. You’ve grown.”

“Thanks,” Call said, this time with a large amount of awkwardness instead of a giant one. “You’ve…”

His uncle raised an eyebrow at him. To be genuinely honest, there wasn’t much of a “last time” Call had to compare him to. He didn’t know if he had more wrinkles than last month, or if his face always looked like that. He didn't know if his bald head was always that shiny, or if this was some sort of occasion. He didn’t know if his uncle was ever fitter, tanner, or taller than what he was right now. He didn’t know what to say. “You, uh, look… generally...okay…”

The edges of his uncle’s mouth quirked, too slightly for Call to know if it was a smile or a frown. He could probably guess, though. “Okay?” he asked.

Call couldn’t help but scowl a little, before wiping it off his face. Fuck, if his uncle was so filthy rich and mysterious, for all Call knew he really was a mafia boss. Call would love not dying by disrespecting a mafia boss. He bit his lip, trying to contain his words.

“You have something to say,” Rufus remarked as if he wasn’t keeping his mouth shut just to watch Call squirm. He had something to say too, but Call wasn’t hearing him say it, was he? “You’re free to speak your thoughts here.” he continued, “Your father has told me you’ve never hesitated before.”

_Might as well,_ Call thought to himself. “Well, since I’ve never seen you before, I wouldn’t really know if anything’s different from usual,” he said, not politely, but he hoped they couldn’t hear anything but nonchalance. “So. There’s that.”

The expression on William’s face was wholly unreadable, but for a second Call thought it was masked anger. He tightened his lips into a thin line, seemingly unknowing what he should say. Call didn’t dare let his eyes linger too long, in case Rufus saw something in his own expression that he didn’t like. He settled for looking at the glass table instead, observing how the carpet under them warped under the glass.

“Call…” his father whispered softly. For a second Call thought— no, _hoped_ — he’d comfort him. Maybe it was a futile hope or maybe it wasn’t. He never knew with his father. A second later, he felt a hand gently land on his forearm and gave him a little squeeze. Call appreciated it more than he thought he would.

His father didn’t say another word and Call didn’t either. His uncle, on the other hand, thought it was about time for him to answer. “Well,” he said with a cough. “I understand it would be… jarring, to see me for the first time in recent memory. Tell me, Call,” he asked, “I’ve visited before, and I’ve even brought you on trips to my home in Genovia before. Do you remember any of them?”

Call’s eyes widened with the new information. “Really?” he said, bewildered, “I don’t remember any of that.”

Rufus frowned like he couldn’t help it. “None?” he asked, “The last one was when you were only eight. You must remember a little bit.” he insisted.

For the first time in the whole conversation, his uncle put the tea down, placing the cup on a little matching saucer. He placed his now free hands on his knee as he placed it over his other leg. “Let’s see…” he sighed, “Do you remember… strolling a large rose garden? You may have been running around in there, or maybe you thought it was some kind of maze…”

“Or maybe you remember the butterfly house? Or do you remember the sunroom?” Rufus continued, reminding Call once again of how mega-rich he was.

Call sighed, doing his best to think of any memories he had, coming up glaringly short. “Well, I guess… maybe a little…?” he said. “Now that you mentioned it, I think I remember a little bit. Though I might be imagining it.”

His uncle frowned slightly, though for the life of him Call couldn’t understand why. Was he actually upset Call couldn’t seem to remember him? Call couldn’t believe it, and under his skin, he felt his emotions bubbling up slightly.

But then he caught Rufus’ small smile, which he quickly made disappear. Though his uncle couldn’t hide his own amusement when he asked, “So you may or may not recall the day a turtle from the pond bit your tongue when you tried to kiss it?”

Call’s face flushed red as he heard his father chuckle because he did, in fact, remember that. He remembered toddling up to the pond in the back garden and seeing a little turtle on the rocks. He didn’t recall getting his supervisor’s permission before he tried to kiss it, accidentally putting his mouth _way_ too close to its little turtle jaw. Now that he looked back at it, one of those “supervisors” looking after him may or may not have been William himself.

“Or that one time we visited a barn and directly after I told you to be careful with your clothing, you fell into the pigpen,” Rufus said, his serious face slightly alight in humour. Alastair chuckled into his sleeve, and honestly, Call would’ve been too if this story wasn’t about him.

Call remembered that, too. He was told not to touch, not to get dirty but his gloves were too hot on his hands and his shoes too tight. He was tearing his humid coat off when he slipped on hay and fell butt-first into a pile of mud.

“That concerned me, actually.” Rufus said, “Pigs eat anything they can, you see. If it had taken me a moment longer to grab you they might’ve eaten you.”

As he saw Alastair immediately stop laughing, Will coughed. “Well, I’m glad none of those animals had any sort of diseases. You always loved animals, no one on my staff could ever tear you away from them.”

“That’s still true,” Call rubbed his shoulder, slightly embarrassed. Though he’s done far, far worse, this was in front of his uncle. Who, though he may be nice, is still probably in the mafia. “And uh, I do remember all of that.”

This time, it took a little while longer for Rufus to stop himself from smiling. “I’m… glad for that,” he said. “But, that brings us to the current topic at hand.” He sighed, leaning back into his chair. He studied Call’s face for a moment, and Call feels a little scrutinized. “Callum, I know you have an interest in politics, which makes me glad. I’d like to know what your opinions are on Genovia, specifically. The system of government, the politicians, the laws… Anything.”

Call feels like it might be a trick. Just saying, if his uncle really was a mafia boss then this conversation can go in two different ways depending on how he answered. He raised his brow, “Can I ask why?”

Rufus shrugged, in that elegant way that made Call feel like he knew the answer but wanted him to get there on his own. 

Call sighed, “Well, it’s a Western European country, a colony of France for a few hundred years before gaining independence in… I think the late eighteen-hundreds? It’s been trying to grow its own culture instead of fostering France’s though, which is kind of working.”

“It’s supposed to be gorgeous, and the main industries are wine and pears, I think.” Call continued, idly mentioning info from the top of his head. “The government could’ve done better in reacting to the pandemic a few years ago, but it also could’ve been worse. Announced quarantine a little later than some other countries, and a lot of people had no unemployment benefits for a while because the sudden influx wasn’t handled that well at first. Half of the major banks had obscure rules and stuff that didn’t let people take out the loans they needed.”

There was more he could’ve said, maybe about how gay marriage and abortion are still illegal even though this is the 21st century. Or maybe go on to more positive things, like how they consider the family to be a very sacred unit and have low divorce and runaway rates. 

Some adults would say he was particularly good at politics for his age, though he just thinks it’s becoming a staple for his generation. They can’t really be blamed for it, though.

Call wasn’t focusing on Rufus’s face, but if he was, he’d be surprised at the hint of fondness in his eyes. “You’ve told me these things already, Call.” He said, “How about Genovian history?”

“How far back?”

“Let’s say, around King Constantine’s reign.” 

Call scrunched his brows, but continued nonetheless, “Well… King William recently announced retirement plans for the future. Tamara tells me that they’ve apparently found a relative of Constantine’s who they want to take the crown. It’s interesting to think about because Constantine and his siblings were supposed to be the last of their line. None of them had kids, as far as we know. You’ve probably already heard about it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his father’s supportive expression fall a little, for reasons he doesn’t know. Call hesitated, but knew if he asked his father would just brush it off. He decided to bite his lip and continue, “But King Constantine was a tyrant, so I don’t know why they still want his relatives on the throne.”

He watched his uncle flinch across the table, and Call grew confused. Why would he flinch? “Well, I mean,” Call said quickly, “Not saying they must suck just because they’re related to him, but I’m pretty sure most citizens would think so.”

Rufus sighed, “I thought you would say that.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his eyelids. Call felt a little guilty, but he doesn’t know why. He wonders if he shared too much, said something Rufus didn’t agree with and was disappointed in him for. Though he would love to not care, he innately hoped his uncle wasn’t doing that because of him.

Call felt a gentle weight on his forearm again and looked to his side to see his father. Alastair was never the most emotional, or even comforting guy, but Call felt he was strangely in-tune to his son's feelings today. He was grateful for it. “Dad?” he asked.

“This is… really important, Call.” He said, casting a wary glance back to Rufus. “As your dad, I feel like I should be the one to tell you.”

He watched as his father and his great uncle seemed to have a standoff with only their eyes. His father’s eyes were guarded, standoffish and nearly daring Rufus to say no. His uncle’s eyes looked at his dad like he didn’t even want to fight. 

After what felt like a tense minute, his uncle nodded curtly. Alastair’s lips tightened into a line slightly, “…Thank you.” He said in a clipped tone.

Call’s eyebrows scrunched deeper, quietly baffled but he was sure it was clear on his face. His father and uncle always talked when William called, so why did it suddenly feel like their relationship was on less than good terms? He inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling the beginning knots of frustration in his head, “Um, hello? Why are you guys acting so cryptic?”

His father returned his gaze onto him, huffing slightly though Call knew he wasn’t actually annoyed. Alastair studied his face for a second, the look in his dad’s eyes making him feel like he was searching for something. His dad took in a breath as he closed his eyes briefly, “Okay…”

“Call, when you were twelve, I told you your mother died in a riot when you were young.”

_Jesus Christ,_ Call thought in surprise, and he's sure it reflected on his face. It's about his _mom?_ His goddamn _mom?_ His father never ever spoke of his mom or her family, and until that day when he was a kid he didn't even know he and Rufus weren't biologically related. When he was twelve his dad sat him down for a life-changing talk.

Around the time he was born, Genovia was going through a series of riots protesting King Constantine’s tyrannic reign. They all started peacefully until Constantine reacted violently.

The only thing his father told him was that Rufus was his mother's legal guardian but not her parent, and she preferred to call him her uncle. And that was... it. Even then Call felt his father had meant to tell him more, but couldn't. Alastair was so vague Call was left scrambling to know more.

Call wanted to know more about his mom, the Genovian side of his family, why she went to the riot, how she got caught in the crossfire. He studied more and more about Genovian politics, trying to find an answer he knew his father wouldn’t give him.

Of course, he knew it was futile. Though, that didn’t stop his hatred for authority from growing bigger and bigger in his mind. At the very least, he was grateful for gaining a new hobby from it.

“Callum,” his father said, garnering his attention again. “What I didn’t tell you, was that was barely half the truth."

Alastair took a deep breath and Call knew he was steeling himself up for something big. His father had a habit of that, being blunt. Always ready to simply rip off the bandaid. The fact that he hesitated this time made Call nervous.

"Your uncle's getting older." his father said, glancing at Rufus for a second. "No offence." Rufus nodded curtly.

"So he won't be able to do his job properly. He thinks it's time for you to learn more about the family history. Specifically your mom's."

Call twiddled with his fingers, apprehensive.

"Since King Constantine died, it's been sixteen years since King Rufus took the throne. You know all about that already." Alastair continued, and Call wondered what this all meant. 

Everything that was shared with him tonight seemed like random information, nothing that made sense. Call thinks that if they had something so important to say, maybe they should've considered practising.

"You may or may not have noticed Constantine's sister's name was Sarah Madden-Novak." Alastair continued carefully, "...Your mother."

Call blinked.

At first Call thinks he didn't hear it right. He vaguely tries to remember the last time he cleaned his ears. "What?"

Rufus stared into Call's eyes, and though he's been doing it all night Call feels something different in his gaze. "Call, your mother was a princess. You're the last of her family."

Call blanked.

"Okay… So?" he said, "That's cool."

Alastair looked at him, eyes full of sadness but a smile playing at his mouth. Call hated that look, but Call knew he'd hate it more if his dad's face was only sad. He only gave him that look when something serious was happening but Call was still saying something stupid. "Son..." he said, "You're a prince."

* * *

Call’s first instinct, however bad it sounds, was to laugh.

For a second he didn’t think he was even processing it right. It was like his brain heard it but somehow didn’t put as much effort as it should have into understanding it. Like it was just an odd arrangement of syllables and sounds that didn’t have actual meaning.

On the other side of his brain, he _definitely_ heard it, all right. And it was going through his brain like some sort of joke. 

Number one, his uncle, after all these years, was apparently a fucking king? So maybe he was rich as hell, but you'd think Call would notice if his relative was the ruler of a small fucking _country._

Number two, by "prince", you mean… _him?_ Of all people in the world, _Call Hunt_ is a fucking prince? It seemed like a completely fairytale thing, like a bad storybook little girls like to dream about. And if it happened in real life — which, _apparently_ it does — it would only happen to people very obviously Not Call Hunt.

It seems like it would happen to someone certifiably, _annoyingly_ perfect. Someone who's attractive, smart, strong, social. Someone who wasn't him. Someone like—

No, it's definitely a joke.

“No, I’m not.”

Rufus raised his brow at him as Alastair melted in his seat. “Yes, you are.”

Call resisted the urge to chuckle. “So my mom was a princess, fine. Doesn’t make me a prince.”

“...Yes. It does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Rufus looked at him with emotion gentler than Call had ever seen on his face. “Call,” he said, “You are. You’re the crown prince of Genovia. You’re going to be king one day. I know this is startling for you, but I expected you to be… happier about this.”

Call felt his emotions bubbling up like lava, and soon he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself for long. “I just— I can’t—” Call stuttered, not even knowing what he was going to say, “…That’s _impossible.”_

“I’m not a prince because no matter what my blood says, I’m nothing _like_ one. I’m not handsome or athletic or strong or smart—” he gripped the armrests of his chair hard, feeling his mouth talking before his brain allowed it to.

The nearly wounded look in his uncle's eyes caught Call off guard. Surprised, maybe. Angry, probably. But he didn’t expect him to look kind of hurt. 

“You shouldn’t speak of yourself like that, Callum.” He said, “You’re smarter than you think. That’s one of your traits I’m most proud of you for.”

Call inhaled, “But— ” he choked, wholly against his will, “But that doesn’t change anything. Anyone could study or learn about politics. I can’t be a prince because I talk weird and I have a limp and no one likes me. I don’t know any manners or whatever and I can’t even talk to people right.”

“I wasn’t done _talking,_ Call.” Rufus said, “You would be _brilliant._ You have a passion for politics and firm morals. Appearance or athleticism doesn’t matter, and we can _teach_ you the rest. You can learn conversation and you can learn the manners you need. Once you’re in Genovia, we’ll be teaching you every day.”

From the mess of emotion that was his brain, he felt confusion bubbling up above the rest. He wanted to ask why his uncle seemed to have so much faith in him. Or why he thought Call was somehow smart just because he can spout stuff he’d read on the news. Or why he thought Call could actually, somehow, be a fucking prince. He wanted to ask so many questions now but only one came out of his mouth. “…What do you mean, _Once I’m in Genovia?”_

He saw both William’s and his father’s eyes widen. His dad opened his mouth, looking slightly panicked, “Call, I—”

“Callum,” his uncle’s voice cut through, interrupting his father. The look in his eyes was pitiful, but in a way Call felt was condescending. Like Call should’ve read his mind already. “In order to begin your training, you must move to Genovia.” He said, trying to smile. “You can continue your schooling in a prestigious institution there, and train for your introduction in June. You’ll love living there, you thought it was the most beautiful place as a child.”

Call sunk into his seat but he felt his heartbeat in his throat. “But I can’t just _move._ What about my friends? Or even Havoc? Or my—” he asked before his voice hitched in his throat. His neck snapped over to look at his dad, “Did you know?”

His father looked at him helplessly, an expression Call had barely ever seen on his face before. “…Yes.” He admitted, “But Call, you have to listen—”

“So,” Call choked up again, “Y- you knew? And you said yes?”

“You… you really wanted me to move away?” he asked, and his father reached for his forearm. He yanked his arm out of the way. “And you!” he scowled, turning into Rufus’ direction.

Call felt his brain go so fast that he couldn't actually understand his own thoughts. He scoured his mind for something to say but his brain wasn't fast enough, “So, so that’s it?” he asked, slowly standing up, "That's the only reason you're here?"

His uncle's face fell into shock for just a moment, "What? Call, you—"

"I thought—" he wanted to punch himself at how his voice trembled. It was so _stupid_ to get so worked up over something that didn't even matter but _to think—_ "I thought you wanted to see me. I thought we were having an actually kind of nice talk."

"Is that all you want from me? I heard about your retirement plans— is that the only reason you wanted to talk to me? To make me the new prince so you can get the press off your back?"

His father stood up, "Call, you have to listen. I know this is stressful but—"

"Wait! Just wait!" Call said, moving away from the two of them, hoping against logic they wouldn't do the exact opposite. "I just—" he took a shuddering breath, "I just need some time."

As his only two relatives in the world called after him, he felt his face burn red as he leapt for the elevator doors. As he got inside he vigorously slammed down on the buttons. Both William and Alastair were getting up after him, eyes full of concern. But still, they refused to _just listen—_

He exclaimed desperately, not wanting them to follow after him, "Just leave me _alone!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i struggled a lot with making Call act in-character. Call's relationships in this story are a little different (he's closer to his dad because Alastair is more sensitive towards his son. Rufus is nicer to him because they interacted more in Call's childhood), so i also wanted to keep that in mind while trying to write him accurately.
> 
> also, forgot to mention this last chapter, but i am 100% open to constructive criticism!! please feel free to share your opinions and feedback. i really don't write much, so i like to learn whenever i can!


	3. hiraeth pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hiraeth  
> (n) a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.
> 
> Call meets someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where stuff gets cute. but only a little cute. it's only starting, so don't expect much lol
> 
> the first scene of this chapter was actually supposed to be the last scene of chap 2. i have a specific word count per chap, so adding it to the last chapter would've made it too long. i kind of wish i still did though, because i feel like the last chapter was a little... bland 🧐
> 
> and additionally, with this update this fic reaches 10k words!! it's probably not a big deal for most of you, but i'm very happy about it because this is the first time I've ever hit 10k on any work! add the fact i hit it in 1 month (took two days to edit but finished it in may) is absolutely incredible to me. i'm very proud of this work even though i know it isn't the best, so thank you so much for reading 💕

Call didn't know where he was going when he ran out of the hotel lobby. And before you asked, no, he doesn't normally stroll the city with no idea where he was or where he was going. The whole running-away-in-panic thing was something he'd done before, more often then he'd like, but not something he wanted to really get used to.

His legs were already hurting from strain barely a block away from the hotel, but he already wasn't that strong anyway. He pushed and pushed, just desperate to get away. His legs kept moving as his brain scoured his memories for a place to go. Somewhere no one could find him.

His house was automatically off the list. He could try Tamara's house, but there was a slim chance he'd be let in. Her family was acquainted with him well enough, but even if he said he was Tamara's friend, the guards at the gate of her neighborhood would take one look at him and kick his ass.

He considered dipping into an alleyway before quickly retracting. He was a rather pessimistic person yes, but he'd honestly rather not die. He considered the cliff off the side of the highway nearby, but that could go very wrong in a multitude of ways. He briefly considered just stopping at a McDonalds or something, but the next time he looked up from his feet he was in front of the French Broad park.

Whether it was muscle memory or coincidence, he was here now. He was familiar with the trails, going here often to walk Havoc. Peaceful in the day and beautiful, if not a little creepy at night, he was willing to risk his chances.

As he probed deeper into the familiar woods, he kind of regretted his choice. The number of people were sparse, few and far between. His bad leg was throbbing in pain, and he knew the second he stopped running he'd feel it in full force. Desperate for a rest, he collapsed under a thick tree, the branches covered with a weak string of Christmas lights.

As he panted hard, he heard a vague sound of sniffling from nearby. Very nearby. He stilled, stories of both manipulative crying kidnappers and multiple ghost ladies running through his mind. He shouldn't have fucking watched The Curse of La Llorona the other day.

Call was surprised when a weak, raw and distinctly male voice said, "H- hello?"

Call's eyes widened, "Hello?" he answered back. 

In a moment of pure idiocy, he decided to try and peek at the boy. He placed his fingers on the tree's trunk carefully, slowly looking over from behind it, "Are you oka—"

"N- no!" the boy screeched, and Call saw a peek of his pant leg as the guy scrambled away. "D- don't look at me right now!"

"O- okay! Okay!" Call said, pressing his back flat against the tree. He heard the person on the other side sniffle again, and he felt excruciatingly awkward. Though, he thinks it'd probably be worse if he could see them.

He heard a sigh, "I... I should go." he said, voice still weak but now it was twinged with something else. Something Call couldn't exactly pinpoint but felt bad for causing anyway.

"No!" Call exclaimed, far louder than he would've liked. Out of his peripherals, he saw a figure get startled. "Uh, sorry," he said. "But uh, maybe... we can keep each other company?"

For a second he didn't hear anything from the only other person around, and the sound of crickets made it far more comical than he wished for. "I heard you crying," he said, voice gentle, knowing he must've been treading on thin ice, "What's wrong?"

Call could feel his hesitance from the other side of the tree bark. As he heard leaves ruffling behind him, he almost thought the guy left. He nearly sighed, before he heard a weary voice exhale, "Only if you tell me why you were running. I could hear you panting."

"Deal," Call replied, before mentally smacking himself over the head. How was he supposed to explain to a stranger that his estranged uncle was a king and that he was apparently a prince? "But uh, you go first."

_...Great save, Call._ he thought to himself, _You still have to explain, but it's an A for effort._

"No way!" he heard the boy say, "I was just sitting here _crying,_ and you were running away from something. How do I know you're not a criminal trying to distract me or something?"

Call scoffed, "If I was a criminal, it wouldn't matter who's talking because you'd be distracted either way."

The crickets chirped some more. Behind their cacophony, he heard the boy stifle a chuckle.

"I suddenly realize that's kinda a bad thing to say," Call says, catching a wide smile growing on his face. The boy snickered, and oddly enough it's kind of nice to hear. "No, maybe it's not," the boy says, and Call swears he can hear the smile that must've been on his face.

Call smirks to himself, looking at the light of the streets far before him. "If it makes me sound less of a creep," he starts, "I'll go first."

Taking the other boy's silence as a nod of his attention, Call continued. He felt bad, but he knew he couldn't tell the truth. Or, maybe not the _whole_ truth...

"So I have an uncle, but he's not really my uncle. He's my great uncle, my mom's legal guardian. Until tonight I've never seen him in person. Sounds a little weird but it's the truth. He calls me and my dad sometimes but he doesn't visit.

"So tonight was the first time we've ever talked in person. To cut it short, he, uh," _fucking shit,_ "Told me he wanted me to train in the military after high school."

_Loving Lord God flying fuck Jesus—_ "At first I didn't want to... but I guess he made some points. I can kind of see why he would want me to, while on the other hand I mostly couldn't. I'm just... not enough for it, I guess. I'd like to, but it feels like an unattainable pipe dream. Like, literally the craziest fucking pipe dream, it feels like it came from a fai—" _No one talks about joining the military like this you dumb fuck holy shit._

Call coughed, "Sorry, it just... It's hard to think about." he lied. "So I kind of panicked and I just ran out. I don't know why, but I came here. So, yeah."

A beat passed, and he's reminded of the chirping crickets again. Though he doesn't feel awkward about it anymore. At least, not too awkward.

"Sorry," he said, "It feels better to get it off my chest."

"Nothing to apologize for," the boy mumbled, "I guess I can't really relate, my story isn't like yours..."

"So... I'm an orphan." He started, and Call's eyes widened, "My mom's dead and my dad's in jail. I've never really known either of them because my dad was jailed when I was really young and my mom went missing a few years later. I was passed around orphanages for my whole life.

Earlier this year, around the start of the school year I was actually sent to a foster home. It was my first time being put with a foster family." He paused for a second, and before Call could open his mouth he heard the boy take a deep breath.

"And uh, it didn't live up to my expectations, I guess. When they told me I'd be moving to a new city with an actual foster family, I thought I'd actually feel like it was a family. I thought I'd be able to feel like I belonged there."

Call felt more than heard his sigh, "Maybe a place where I could belong is too much to ask for."

Call stared straight ahead, looking but not focusing on anything. As far as he could see, the only thing in front of him was dimly lit forestation and further ahead, the streets of the city he felt a little detached to. He couldn't help but witness a pair of boys, who looked around twelve, sitting on the curb and eating ice cream.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" Call asked.

When the boy on the other side of the tree answered, he sounded shocked. "What?"

"Wanna get ice cream sometime?" Call repeated, not one to back down now.

"A- are you asking me out?" the boy asked hesitantly, and Call's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

"N- no! Well kind of, but I mean uh--" Call stuttered. "I mean like, clearly both of us don't know what else to say, so I thought we could just, chill? I- I don't know. I kind of wasn't thinking just now."

For a moment, no one spoke, and Call was about to smack himself in the face for ruining the first moment of peace he'd had all day. And then from behind him, the boy slowly seemed to devolve into a fit of giggles. Call didn't know if that made him feel better or worse. Though, Call would quietly admit to himself that he was glad he made the boy laugh, despite the fact he was crying a few minutes ago.

"I... I kind of like that idea," the boy said, calming down, "Um, can you come back here tomorrow? I wanna talk to you again soon, but it's getting kind of late."

Call suddenly realized how dark it was, and though it wasn't very light when he first came to the park, it was far darker now. "Shit, I should be home by now." he said, and he felt more upset over the idea than he thought he would. He stood reluctantly as he got used to the throb in his leg that was far duller than earlier.

He brushed the dirt off his butt, looking over his shoulder at the tree but not at the person behind it. "Don't you have to get home?" he asked, hearing the boy sigh. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"Hey, before you go," the boy said, making Call pause, "I think you should give your uncle a chance to train you, or something. So you know what you're getting into before you go into the military. I know you said you think you're not good enough but... you don't have to stop trying."

For a moment Call didn't know what to say, the silence between them growing longer and slightly heavier, "I think I'll give it a try," Call said. "And hey, I don't think I know exactly what you feel but... I know a little bit about feeling like you don't belong. I think you'll find it one day, though. You don't have to stop trying either."

As Call steeled himself up, he asked, "Same time tomorrow, okay?"

* * *

The next morning, Call finds his uncle sat at the dining table at the crack of dawn. He doesn’t know if he ever left at all, but Call feels like his father wouldn’t have let him stay.

The other night when Call retired back to his room, he didn’t stay to see if William had left. In his defence, he didn’t see why Rufus would want to stay, or why his father would let him.

This led to his current predicament. There they were, both his father and uncle, sat at opposite ends of the dining table. And looking at him, all the way across the room by the base of the stairs. If gold sunlight wasn’t seeping in through the windows, he’d feel like this was a horror movie.

“Call,” his father said, breaking the silence and garnering their attention, “Take a seat. I made pancakes.”

In most circumstances, he wouldn’t stop.

“I put powdered sugar and a ton of syrup. And a bowl of strawberries,” Alastair chimed casually.

This is not one of those circumstances. _It’s worth it,_ he thinks to himself.

He takes a seat, and after a moment Call thinks he could cut the silence with a knife. “I think I’d enjoy these pancakes a lot more if you guys weren’t staring at me.”

Rufus hummed, “Good morning to you as well, Callum.” He said, “I was waiting for a greeting. Do neither of you greet each other in the mornings?”

“Only if it’s sarcastic,” Call says. “Unnecessary formality,” Alastair continues.

William raises a groomed brow at the two of them. “How unmannerly,” he sighs as his lips tightened into a thin line. Call sees his dad attempt to hide his eye roll. Though if it were anyone else calling his father _unmannerly,_ he would've already cussed them out. “In any matter, the house is filthy.”

Call looks around the place. “It’s not that bad,” he says, surveying the multitudes of random objects scattered over every surface. Maybe a little messy or disorganized, but not that bad. Call preferred calling it a scene out of a Ghibli movie.

Rufus’s lip curled in disdain, however slightly. He turned to look at Alastair. “All this clutter is _normal_ for Call?” he asks, like the place is a pigsty. “I’d be surprised to see what he believes would be a mess.”

When Call says it’s not that bad, it’s really not— when his uncle agreed to pay a mortgage anywhere, his father chose a genuinely beautiful townhouse. They had their own (though relatively small) little terrace, the neighbourhood was fine, they had two floors, his dad had a garage. All was fine.

Yes, there’s tons of extra junk neither he nor his father cared to put away. Or maybe sometimes the house goes a few months without vacuuming. Maybe the shower hasn’t been washed in nearly six months. They can live.

“I’m right here, y’know,” Call says, trying to ease things before it gets worse. His father’s grip on the table had tightened too much too fast. “I’d like to see what’s your version of clean-enough-to-be-acceptable.”

Rufus shook his head at him, “It’s a trait I’ve long since accepted about you Call, but you truly do talk back too much.” 

Call would bite back and say _that’s how a conversation works_ if his uncle didn’t speak again a moment later. “We can work on that when your lessons begin. It would be beneficial for you to learn proper manners, as it seems like you weren't taught right previously."

“I could find you a nanny or a maid service if you’d like," he says as if he didn't just shade his father and call him a mess. Call feels like his uncle's brain-to-speech feature lacks a bit of tact.

(Though Call couldn't say much about _tact_ unless he wanted to act like a hypocrite. Maybe it's a family thing.)

"It would simply be beneficial for Call to have a more organized home environment. A home he enjoys being greeted with as he returns from school,” Rufus finished. He doesn't seem to notice his dad's barely-concealed ferocity. Call does _not_ want to see what could happen when it breaks out.

Call stops listening right there when he gets a text on his phone. Knowing it can’t be anyone else but Tamara, he hurries to check it.

He gets greeted by Tamara talking about a vintage dress she found and liked. The picture of it she sent briefly reminds Call of Bo Peep. Scarlett O’Hara’s barbeque dress or something— 

“Who is that?” Rufus inquires suddenly, leaning over Call as if he was trying to take a look at his screen.

“Woah!” Call says, bringing the phone to his chest, “Don’t look at my phone! God…”

“It’s just Tamara anyways,” Call grumbles, typing back to her. His uncle seemed to perk up, as much as a guy as stoic as him can perk up.

“Oh, Tamara,” he says, “Lovely girl. May I ask— do you have any plans with her?”

Call pauses. For a second he thinks he’s lost the feeling in his cerebrum, “…What.”

“If I’m correct I believe your prom is scheduled soon. Do you have any plans to ask her?” he says like it’s a perfectly normal topic, “Brilliant girl. Joseph tells me her cable show is cute yet oddly interesting.”

Call stares. This time he’s sure at least a few brain functions have suddenly dissolved. Just a few. “What.”

His uncle looks at him exasperatedly, “Don’t you like Tamara? She’s very pretty, intelligent, quite a suitable fit.”

Call stood up fast enough that he got a little dizzy. He plucked the bowl of strawberries from the table. “Okay, I’m going to go to school now.”

William’s face morphed into an almost comical expression of confusion as Call darted toward the door. “I have to go, and do the focusing on the studying.” Call said, grabbing his bag on his way, “Yes, the study. Toodle-oo—”

“Call.” His father said, making Call stop, “Just a sec!”

His dad gripped his shoulder in that firm Dad Fashion, before quickly dropping it because he’s still the ever-awkward Alastair Hunt. “I know you have questions, and I still have things I want to explain to you,” he says, “Let’s go on a light hike after school, okay?”

“I’m busy,” Call says automatically, “Previous plans.”

“After, then. Or tomorrow.”

Call pursed his lips begrudgingly. 

On one hand, there’s the feeling of _I don’t know anything right now and I want to know._ Then, on the other hand, there’s the feeling of _I don’t know anything right now and I still wanna know but I really don’t wanna talk to the only people who can answer._

But his dad looks like he really wants to tell Call something. Call feels like he’s only gonna know if he says yes. So begrudgingly, he does.

His dad gives him a smile. He kissed his forehead and waved Call off.

It’s not until Tamara looks at him weird that Call remembers he still has a fucking bowl of strawberries in his hand.

* * *

French Broad looks very different in the daytime. The time couldn’t have been that far past four and it was already far sunnier than yesterday. _That’s North Cal for you._

He slinked through the forest, trying to find a sliver of yesterday's path. Last night he ran and ran, not looking much. The stormy clouds had blackened the sky yesterday, spearing his vision. As he followed whatever he thought he saw last night, he hoped he wouldn’t be late. Or at least, he hoped he’d be able to find the same place at all.

He skittered around some more before coming to a semi-familiar tree, it’s branches strung with Christmas lights. It wasn’t the only tree decorated with them, but looking at it now it’s image was fresher in his mind then the rest. Otherwise he could just be imagining it.

Shrugging, Call leaned back on the same side he was on last night. From this spot, he saw the same view of the streets from last night, the same exact angle of the now childless curb. He sighed in satisfaction as he confirmed he was in the right spot, slumping down on the grass.

“Hello?” Call suddenly heard from his back, making him yelp. The tone of his voice raised an octave and made him sound a little like a puppy. His face flushed slightly in embarrassment as he heard fitful chuckling ring out from the other side of the trunk.

“Okay, ha ha, laugh it up,” he grumbles, though he can’t seem to fully mean it.

“Sorry!” the boy says, still giggling, “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“You didn’t scare me,” Call replies, like a brat. “I was just… acknowledging your ‘hello’. That was a greeting yelp, you know. How disrespectful.”

“Sure,” the boy snickers. His chuckles soon die down, but Call wishes they didn’t because now there’s only an awkward silence.

“So…” the boy says, and Call could giggle at the relatable awkwardness. In fact, he does, the tiny half-suppressed noise escaping him.

“So yourself,” he says, with a simple charm he believed he was physically incapable of. Before they could awkwardly lapse back into silence, he sputters, “I, uh, brought us some ice cream?”

“Wait, what?” Call hears the guy say.

“Oh uh,” Call continues awkwardly, zipping open his school bag and pulling two popsicles out, “I just thought that it might be cool if we actually had some ice cream? I mean I said we could go for some yesterday, and you didn’t exactly say yes or no so I thought that… might as well?”

From the boy’s silence, Call feels like he shouldn’t have bought it. (Though he doesn’t get why, because who wouldn’t love free ice cream?) “Something wrong?”

That seems to spur the dude to speech again, because he hears sputtering a second later. “No, that’s not bad at all,” he says, “It’s just that, uh, I… kinda had the same idea?”

“What.”

“I bought us ice cream too, because I thought that it might be nice? I dunno, I didn’t really think you meant what you said yesterday but…”

“So, now we have four ice creams then, huh?” Call smirks, “Sounds awesome.”

“Sounds like diabetes,” the other replies. “Hope you like vanilla, ‘cause it’d be rude not to eat my gift.”

“Fine with me. I got you the same thing, since for all I knew you were allergic to everything else.”

They both laughed, and behind his own giggles, Call thinks the guy’s chuckles sound like bells or something. They fall into amicable chatter, and he feels his smile going stupid wide as they pass the time together.

“Hey,” the boy says, slowly sobering up from Call’s last joke.

“Yeah?” he answers, finishing his vanilla popsicle and immediately opening the strawberry one he’d bought for himself.

“How’d it go yesterday? Did you end up talking to your uncle?” he breaches the topic gently, like it’s something sensitive. Maybe it is, a little, but the excuse he made up didn’t warrant much cause for concern. If the guy didn’t sound so gentle, Call probably wouldn’t have paused like he did.

“I did. And uh, it went better than I thought it would, I guess.” Call shrugs, and he finds himself focusing on the wood in front of him. He noticed a slug on a leaf and stares at it. “He agreed with pretty much no arguments.”

“Looking back at it, and thinking of what I’m getting myself into… It feels scarier than I wanna admit.” Call confessed after a quiet moment.

“I don’t know much, but I know the military is... scary.” The boy answered, and Call’s stomach plummeted as he remembered his bald-faced lie. “But… you really want it, right? You told me yesterday you didn’t think you had what it takes. I know it sounds super cliche or whatever, but maybe that’s enough.”

_…Maybe that’s enough._

_…Maybe._

Call sighed, biting his lip, and he doesn’t know what to think but he also doesn’t wanna lie. “Maybe you’re right.”

He can’t see him, but the boy’s voice sounds like a grey smile. “Maybe.”

Call smiles too.

Eventually, the sky gets a little too dark and they’ve long since finished their ice creams. Call made to leave but before he could, the boy stopped him.

“What,” he jested, “Wanna ask for my number?”

“…Actually, yeah…”

“…Oh.”

* * *

“By the way, are we actually keeping up this _not_ _looking at each other's faces_ thing?”

“I mean, why not? Sounds fun.”

“It’s a little weird...”

“What, scared I’ll think you’re hard on the eyes? Doubt it.”

“How would you know?”

“Your personality’s good in my books. Besides, you can ask me for a selfie later. Let's just let this be a little interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "a little interesting" 👀
> 
> the first scene of the next chap was also supposed to be the last scene of this one. i'm beginning to think i should just ignore word counts.
> 
> if you have any questions about anything, please share! i'll answer anything, unless it's a direct spoiler for the plot. and please feel free to leave constructive crit. this is like, my second fic ever? still a dumbass at writing lol


	4. hiraeth pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call is faced with lots of new ideas and people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: Call has an Asheville cell number and Aaron has a California cell number, because he didn't get a new one when he moved.
> 
> when i first started writing this story i really tried to make it kind of funny. then i realized that's not my style and it's like this now. i don't think you'll even notice lmao

828-***-****: hello?

828-***-****: is this the french broad ice cream boy

916-***-****: Oh my god.

916-***-****: You did not just call me that

828-***-****: just did lmao

828-***-****: so this is mr. french broad ice cream boy

916-***-****: If anything, you’re the French Broad ice cream boy. It wasn’t my idea to buy them

828-***-****: pulling the fancy capitalized French Broad on me huh

828-***-****: if not french broad ice cream boy then what else can i call you?

828-***-****: wait don’t give me your actual name

828-***-****: give me a pseudonym 

916-***-****: My god

916-***-****: OK fine

916-***-****: Call me A

828-***-****: do you perchance watch pretty little liars

A: No, that’s just the first letter of my name

828-***-****: bruh

828-***-****: lame

A: rude ☹️

828-***-****: lol

828-***-****: going by your logic, call me C

A: 😊😊

* * *

He was around eleven years old when he first went on a hike. Not a stroll near a group of trees, not another session of physical therapy. A very real “dirt path through the woods” type of thing. His very first, very real _hike_.

Call recalls it as being one of, if not the best day of his life.

In a place like that, everything felt different. His left leg still throbbed in pain but he didn’t care. His right leg throbbed too, but with the pain of exertion. The feeling of going further than you’ve ever gone before.

He had gone further than he’d ever gone before and that made him so, so happy. The feeling made the pain in his legs all worth it.

To this day he wishes he could’ve hiked even further, but a step more and he would’ve passed out. So maybe he couldn’t go hiking as often as he’d like. He couldn’t go too deep into the woods, and he couldn’t go too fast. But he could go and that was what mattered to him.

Being in the woods made him feel okay. Like things were fine. And sometimes when he’d go people would stare at him, or ask if he needed help. But that’s fine. He could always go somewhere no one else could find him.

_Not without Havoc,_ his brain supplied, _Where no one can find you except Havoc,_ and he knew that. Of course, he knew that.

His father brought him on his first hike, because Call couldn't trust anyone else with something like that. Back then, Call didn’t trust anyone else, period. Alastair had been as worried as any father would, had fussed and fretted and for a second his eleven-year-old self thought he had made the wrong choice.

Before his baby self could do anything, his dad backed off. Later, Alastair told him his wistful smile and shining eyes changed his mind. He let Call feel like this was something he could do on his own. From his first hike when he was eleven, Call has loved it ever since.

His dad was fully aware of that and that’s probably why he decided to take him out to the hiking trails. Hiking makes him feel better, better than better and Alastair liked to take advantage of that. 

The wheels of his dad's Rolls-Royce crunched against gravel as they made the transition from paved road to hiking paths. Hills of green came into view as Call looked outside the car window. His school bag was heavy in his lap, most of the space in the backseat being taken up by Havoc.

Call sheds the fancy stuff, excluding the hiking pants he’d changed into at school. He pulled off the black blazer and discarded the silver school crest and white tie, indicative of his year at Magisterium Academy.

They exited the car and took Havoc out of the backseat, the German shepherd licking them excitedly. The hike started the second his shoes touched dirt. Call felt the calm of the forest start to ebb into him just as fast.

They headed off onto a light trail, but if Call was lucky he could lead his father and his dog down to at least a medium one. His father didn’t hike as often as he did, didn’t know every trail nearby their house like Call knew. Alastair stayed silent the whole time and half of Call was grateful. It feels like he’s letting Call get used to him being there.

They barely stopped the whole time, and when they did it’s his father who asked to. Not that he’s nonathletic or anything, it’s just that… well, maybe Alastair is a little nonathletic. Call was too, it’s a trait of the family. For all Call knew, his father only asked to stop because he knew Call wouldn't.

There was no more sunshine in the forests by the time they had gotten there, but Call doesn’t mind that much. The moon wasn't out yet, and that's all he needed. Havoc pulled at his leash a little, but the dog’s weight is nothing Call can’t handle. He managed to subtly lead them off the light trail and into a medium one, and he hoped his father couldn’t feel the difference in intensity. This medium trail is supposed to lead them straight to the running riverbed.

“Let’s stop here,” he suggests, looking around. “Maybe after this stop, we can be good for the day.”

Alastair hums behind him as Call briefly took the leash off Havoc’s collar. The large dog didn’t jump at the chance of freedom and stayed by Call’s side despite not needing to. Call knew he would, but he smiled anyway. He sat himself down on a bench installed directly before the river, his dad sitting beside him.

They don’t talk for a while. At first, Call feels it’s okay, but then he remembers why they’re here in the first place and the feeling is replaced by awkwardness. He doesn’t wanna be the one to break the ice because that just generally always sucks, so he’s grateful his dad does it with a sigh. Out of his peripherals, he sees his dad turn his head from the water to look at him, “Well… what do you want to know?”

Call bites his lip and looks at the dirt ahead of them instead of the river. “I guess just… everything? Anything that relates to me?” he turns to him, sees the apprehension in his dad’s eyes, “If… that’s okay?”

His dad looked a little uneasy, but the tone of his voice was sure. Sure in a way Call knew he meant it. “You deserve to know, Call. It’s your family history.” He says, voice soft, “I just hope I have the strength to tell you the whole story.”

“But wait,” Call interrupted, just as Alastair was about to delve into his story. His father pauses, staring at him patiently. Call wishes he had just let his father continue. Maybe it’d make more sense to save the question for later. Though, against Call’s better judgement, he wants to know _now._

“What uncle Rufus said that day, about me going to live in Genovia,” Call begins tentatively, “Did you really want me to go?”

“Oh Call,” his father’s eyes soften, “Of _course_ I didn’t.”

“But you said--”

“I said I _knew._ Not that I approved _._ I’d _never_ allow something like that. God, if I could I’d keep you here for forever. If I had things my way Rufus wouldn’t even be here.”

Call’s eyes widened, “Wait… what?”

His father pursed his lips apprehensively. “Well,” he sighed, “Let’s… start from the top.”

“When I first met the royal family, I had no clue who they were. Actually, the first person I met was…Constantine.”

Call’s eyes blew wide. For some reason, his brain never thought that if his dad had a baby with a princess, he might’ve met the whole family at one point. He didn’t think his father would’ve met fucking _King Constantine Madden._ The fucking _Enemy of Death,_ as he was dubbed during the rioting period of his ousting.

“I was their friend for a long time. Me, Declan, Jericho, Constantine, Sarah. We were… a group. It’s hard to think about, how… _different_ things were when we were younger. One turned into a murderous tyrant and all of them are dead.

“I didn’t even know they were royalty until me and Sarah fell in love. By then, it was unavoidable. If she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me, she couldn’t hide it anymore. When she told me I, uh, reacted about as well as you thought I would.  
  


He smiled softly, like he didn’t know he was doing it. Something squeezed at Call’s heart. “But… it worked out in the end. Me and Sarah got together, I did my best to get used to the fact all my best friends were royalty. At that point, I’d known uncle Rufus for as long as I’ve known them, and he actually kind of liked me. I think he did, at least. 

“Either way, he approved of my relationship with your mom. Though Sarah told me it was only because she was the youngest. Any closer to the throne and he would’ve kicked my ass.” Alastair chuckled a little, the green of his dad’s eyes sparkling. “When we found out Sarah was pregnant with you, we eloped in secrecy and made sure the public didn’t know. That was probably the part Rufus didn’t like, including the fact we were ‘too young’ at the time.”

Alastair sighed, closing his eyes. He laid his head on the park bench, his face to the sky. Call hadn’t noticed how dark it had gotten. “You see Call, me and your mother wanted you to have a normal life. Except… soon after Constantine was crowned and we told the family we were pregnant with you, he said he wanted to make you the heir to Genovia.”

Call couldn’t hold in his gasp, a sharp inhale escaping his lips. 

“But,” Call breathed, “Why?” The very thought seemed unbelievable. That a figure of royalty Call learnt about in history class _knew_ him. That an infamous tyrant wanted to _make him a prince._ “So, that's why Rufus wants me to be prince, then? Because it was--” he choked on the name, like his brain couldn’t comprehend that he actually _knew_ someone so _monstrous._ Or better yet, someone like that knew _him._ “Because it was his wish?”

Alastair looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t know anything about _why,_ and I don’t think anyone still alive does either. But I want you to know that I don't think Rufus is doing it to uphold Constantine's wishes.” he said.

"Wait, what? What do you mean?" Call's eyebrows furrowed, "If he doesn't want me to be a prince because of King Constantine, then why?"

"I don't know," his dad answered mournfully. "I don't know what he's thinking. It's just… the previous king's wish is a really weak claim to the throne if they didn't make you heir. Constantine didn't make it official before he died, and me and Rufus have argued about it for years."

His father sighed again, and Call can't help but feel confused and disappointed. “It felt like a fairytale at the time, you know. All of it did." Alastair continued, "Royalty, castles, fanciness and all that. Now it feels like a curse.”

“I always wished that Rufus would keep the throne, pass it off to some Genovian delegate when he gets too old. I thought he wouldn’t listen to what Constantine wanted, that he’d pick someone else. I never wanted it to be you, Call.”

“I’ve seen what power can do to people. What it can make someone else do to _you.”_ his dad scowled, his fist clenching into his pants, “I didn’t want that for you. For you to be thrown into a vicious game of politics at age 21. That’s what happened to Constantine. People manipulated him, used him, fed him lies and stupid ideas until he turned into a puppet and did whatever they wanted.”

“That’s why I don’t like Rufus, Call. Being a royal is only going to put you in danger. Being a royal killed your mother, killed all my friends. Now Rufus wants you to be king, and it’s only going to get you hurt.”

* * *

The weight of his bag is heavy on his shoulders, and Call finds momentary relief as he tossed it off, jumping onto his bed. The plush pillow and soft sheets don’t comfort him like he wanted them to, or at least, not for as long as he’d like.

He shoved his head into the pillow, muffling his loud and drawn-out groan. He stopped for a second to catch his breath, before pulling out another significantly shorter groan. He felt something poking around at his legs and nosing his socks, the sensation making Call slowly sit up.

The brown German Shepherd jumped to attention, trying to climb into Call’s lap as if he was still the size of a lapdog. Call feels a laugh bubble out of his throat as he wrestles with the wolf-like dog.

He sighed, gently squishing Havoc’s maw between his hands. “You’re so lucky you don’t need to know who your parents are,” he told him. And though he sometimes feels crazy for talking to his dog, Havoc’s soft “boof” feels like an answer to him.

Call felt the corners of his lips twitch, despite everything that has happened in the last three days. Despite everything that’s happened in the last two hours.

_“When those politicians go to war, which is often, they don’t care about the people who die because of it.”_

A long time ago, that’s what his father had told him after Call mentioned how another country was making threats that could start a war. That’s what his father told him by the river that afternoon, after Alastair told him of the war that killed the family Call could’ve had.

He scoured his mind for a time in history, _any time,_ his father was wrong. 

He knew the answer before he even began.

_“I should’ve told you the truth about royals earlier, how their world isn’t glitz and glamour. You know that though, don’t you? Politicians have been bastards since the idea of them even existed.”_

Call flopped onto his back, grabbing his pillow and loudly groaning into it again.

Just his luck. The second Call thinks he may be able to help the world in a way that means something, one of the most important people in his life expresses their hatred for it.

And so his long-dead uncle was apparently a murderous tyrant who, for some reason, wanted to make him his heir. And apparently, his great-uncle, the king of Genovia, may have ulterior motives for making him a prince.

_That’s the life of Callum Hunt for you,_ he thinks to himself, _one huge ball of flaming shit he doesn’t understand._

His mind wandered to his father’s past actions, to anything he did that could’ve been some sort of sign. If his father didn't want him to be a prince, he wondered why he allowed him to be sent to a high-class academy like the Magisterium. Though, if Call asked his father, he thinks he’d only harrumph and say something like, _“I’m not going to deny my child a good education just because the place is full of elitists.”_

Havoc barked gently, licking at the side of his face like a lollipop. Call felt his anxiety ebb away slowly, the dog’s soft fur a comfort under his fingers. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down.

Then his phone rings in his bag, an instrumental version of the coffin dance song ringing throughout the room. Call groans, remembering his bag is still on the floor.

“Hello?” Call says, bringing the cracked screen of his phone to his ear.

“Good evening Callum,” he hears a low baritone say, and he nearly drops his phone at the sound of uncle Rufus’s voice. “Your tutor will be arriving from Genovia tomorrow. We must give him a proper greeting at the airport.”

Call raises his brow, “You mean, we’re picking him up ourselves? Like, we as in I also have to come?”

If his uncle ever eye rolled, Call could hear it through the phone. “Yes, you must come. He is coming here to teach you, after all.”

Call sighed, “Great…”

“I will pick you up at your school, and we will immediately go to the airport to greet him after his flight. That is all. Good night, Callum.”

“Wait, school? You can’t come to my school! What do yo—” The line goes dead on the other side, and Call doesn’t think that’s a polite thing to do for a king. He groaned.

* * *

The interior of his uncle’s limousine was even nicer than he expected. The pure white color had made Call scared to stain it, though that didn’t stop him from grabbing all the chocolate on the bar-slash-table thing. He would’ve called it a bar if it wasn’t inside a car.

He and his uncle occupied the entire back seat, spacious with only the two of them in it. In front of them in the front seat, there was a man dressed in a uniform in the driver’s side. Albert, his uncle introduced him as when Call first came in. In the passenger side, there was a platinum-blond man in a stark white suit. His face seemed familiar to Call, but he couldn’t recall where he knew him from.

“We will arrive at four thirty, when the jet is scheduled to land at four fourty-five. We will greet him and then personally escort him to the hotel.” The blond man said, and though his name was on the tip of Call’s tongue he couldn’t properly remember him until he spoke.

Call’s eyes widened as he remembered him. The lightly-scarred face would’ve given it away for most, had Call actually paid attention to it when they first met. “Thank you, Joseph.” Uncle Rufus said, “I’d like to have a moment of privacy with Callum now.”

Call watched as Joseph’s face was slowly shadowed over by a black tinted window, separating the front and back seats. He leaned in closer to his uncle and whispered, just in case the window wasn’t soundproof, “Why is a hotel owner in your passenger seat?”

Rufus raises a dark brow at him, lips vaguely quirking up, “He’s not just a hotel owner.”

Call’s eyes narrowed, “Doesn’t answer my question that much.”

His uncle hums for a second, and momentarily Call thought he wasn’t going to answer his question. “Joseph is many things. He doesn’t exactly own the hotel, but he is a prominent sponsor, so to speak. He is a sponsor of multiple other branches and companies internationally. He’s also somewhat of an assistant to me.”

“Don’t tell him I told you though,” William said, “He is older than me.”

Call’s eyebrows shot to his hairline as he blurted, “Older than _you?”_

His great uncle rolled his eyes. Well, that answered one question. _“Yes,_ older than me. Try not to make me repeat myself too often.”

“So… he’s just everywhere then?”

“Less like he’s everywhere,” William said, “Simply, he’s always where I need him to be.”

Call raised his brow at his uncle’s tone, so unfamiliar in his voice that it was almost weird. A little hard to pinpoint, like something between praise and fondness. Maybe something else that he couldn’t tell. Maybe both.

Rufus sipped on a flute of something clear. Call thinks it’s champagne, but doubts his uncle would right before meeting someone apparently important. Call leaned back against the leather, trying to enjoy the rest of the ride to the airport. Rufus cleared his throat. _Alright, guess that’s not happening._

“So, Callum,” Rufus started. 

“It’s _Call,”_ he interrupts.

“It’s also King William, but I don’t believe I told you to call me that, did I?”

“As I was saying,” Rufus continues, “Callum, what’s your opinion on the Genovian political environment?”

Call raised a brow, “Is that some sort of test?”

Rufus shook his head casually, or as casually as someone like him could. “No, it isn’t. I won’t condemn you for your views or personal opinion, I’m simply interested to know.”

_“That means he’s trying to bond with you!”_ Call heard, the words muffled, and he can tell immediately it’s from the sectioned-off front seat. He’s surprised by how sudden it is, but laughs at the words.

“Joseph!” Rufus chastised, and Call enjoys the uncharacteristic look on his uncle’s face. It doesn’t last long though, as William straightens up, his expression turning from embarrassed or angry. “We will talk about this later!” He said in the front seat’s direction.

William fixed the lapels of his suit, though it was impeccable as ever. Call smiles, “Okay, I think Joseph just might be cool.”

Rufus fixes him with an exasperated expression as Call hears a _“Thank you, your Highness,”_ from the front seat. He’s glad he whispered when he asked why the hotel owner was there.

* * *

“Also, I hate the baron of New Pyrus. Baron deWinter, I think?” Call mentions offhandedly, “Huge elitist. Also homophobic. General ass. I got angry practically every time Tamara told me about stuff he did or said on the news.”

His uncle’s eyes widened incrementally, not enough for him to notice. Though Call does notice how he gripped the flute of liquid somewhat tighter.

“Oh?” William said, voice slightly strained. Call wondered why.

* * *

The Asheville regional airport was as average as ever. Call didn’t have a clue as to how private jets worked (In fact, he didn’t even know they actually landed at airports until half an hour ago) but for a second he thought people as rich as his uncle would want to land their jets at someplace nicer. He wouldn’t be surprised if some Mr Rich would rather build their own hangar on private property instead of land themselves here.

It’s not like this airport is bad. Really, it isn’t. Though Call’s just surprised the place apparently has a hangar for private jets.

“Lord Jasper’s jet will be arriving in just a few more minutes, Your Majesty. We are slightly ahead of schedule.” Joseph said, walking side-by-side with Rufus. Call walked just slightly behind them, not needing to push himself to keep up with their slow stride. They were led to a part of the airport Call had never seen before, away from everything most people saw and into hallways a little less well-decorated. He didn’t even notice an airport could’ve had so much space behind closed doors. They seemed to be going down, and before Call could begin to complain about how damn long the walk was, they stopped.

Before Call asked why, he looked past the two large men. His eyes blew wide upon realizing that they were in some sort of hangar. Unless, of course, the multiple private jets in front of them were just toys.

In front of him, the hangar doors were open, showing off the blue sky directly outside. Call caught a view of the airport landing strip that he’d never seen before.

“Damn…” Call said, eyes taking in the sight. His eyes explored the large open space, narrowing his eyes at the half-dozen suit-clad guards that must’ve been waiting for them.

“This is called the private hangar,” Joseph explains patiently, clearly for Call’s benefit. He was grateful for it, though. “This is where the public’s private jets are stored. Temporarily and permanently.”

“Is that the Rijavi jet?” Call asked, pointing to a smaller white and red plane inside the hangar, “Tamara’s mentioned that her dad needed one sometimes, and I think she’s shown me a picture of that one.”

William only hums at him. “Possibly,” he said, “There aren’t many people in a city like Asheville that need one.”

He pointed to another jet, larger than the Rijavi’s and colored white with a gold stripe. “That’s ours.”

Call’s eyes bulged out of his head, _“Ours?_ As in, _also mine?”_

His uncle’s face remained blank, with only a twinkle in his eye signalling his amusement. “It’s the royal family’s. I arrived at Asheville on it. As the prince of Genovia, you’re not allowed to use it without express permission, but it is yours.”

Joseph chuckled at him, making Call jump back into reality with the sound. William and Joseph began to walk again, toward the open doors but staying well within the hangar. Call followed behind them, whispering softly to himself, _“I have a private jet…”_

The new information, although fucking incredible, didn’t entertain him for long once his bladder started acting up. “Uncle Rufus,” he whispered urgently, capturing his attention. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

William raised a brow at him, “Do you actually have to relieve yourself, or does this have to do with the fact I just told you that you had a private jet?”

Call looked at him exasperatedly. "No," he said. "I just need to pee!"

Rufus sighed, "Next time, say _may I be excused_. You may go. Be back quick, you must greet the lord."

Call pushed out a stunted "Thanks," before walking down a monotone hallway. He maneuvered through the hangar, trying to find a goddamn bathroom sign in all the greyscale. He stumbled upon a white doorway, relieved as he saw the men's bathroom sign.

The first thing Call noticed was that these bathrooms were nice-nice. The second thing he noticed, after taking a lovely moment in a stall, was that he wasn't alone.

He walked to the sink, bright lights illuminating his face like a high-powered vanity. Maybe he would've whistled a jaunty tune to himself if he could actually hold a whistle that long. He washed his hands peacefully, falling back into the thought that he was alone in there.

The illusion of peace was broken when, behind him, a stall door was pushed open from the inside with a loud "click" noise. 

The first thing Call noticed was that the dude inside was certifiably gorgeous. He had black hair swept to the side in a way Call thought no one could actually pull off, but he guessed he was wrong about that. It's a stark contrast to his fair skin, which makes for a good combination. His Asian features were handsome in a way that just told you he was rich, if his multitude of branded clothes didn’t spell it out for you. He looked exactly like one of those K-pop idols Celia liked.

The second thing Call noticed is that he looked vaguely horrified to see Call standing there. "What are you doing here?" The boy said, nearly a bark if he hadn't looked so horrified.

Call rose a brow, looking at the guy's face in the mirror. "What, like I _can't_ be here? I get being surprised you're not alone in the bathroom, but you don't have to look so horrified about it, dude."

The pretty boy clenched his fists, his lips tightening into a thin line. “No one else is supposed to be here right now!” He said, evaluating Call, “Especially not someone like _you_. Did you sneak in here?”

Call’s brows scrunched in offense, “I’m sorry?”

The guy sneered. “This hangar is for _private jet owners!_ What are you here for? Are you trying to steal a jet or something?” 

“What the hell? How would _you_ know I’m not a jet owner?” Call said.

The boy leered at him as he gave him a second once-over. Call remembered his wrinkled blazer and half-tucked dress shirt, the mud on his black shoes and wild hair that stuck up in weird directions. He suddenly regrets asking. “They should’ve upgraded security,” the boy said, “If it was so easy for some type of _thug_ like you to sneak past them.”

This guy was suddenly very not pretty. Call scowled, “I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died, but I’m here to meet someone.”

“Like I’ll believe that!” The guy snarked in return, “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling security!”

Call harshly turned away from the sink as he held another retort on the tip of his tongue. He accidentally knocked off a bottle of soap with his forearm, spilling a light pink cream all over the boy’s expensive-looking clothes.

The boy fell back as what was practically a screech escaped his throat, his flapping arms making him look like a squawking bird. _“Ugh!”_ He said, glaring daggers at Call. _“I’ll make you regret this!”_

As the boy ran out of the room, Call followed after him. If his uncle hears about this, he’ll be in for a world of trouble.

What Call didn’t expect when he returned to the private hangar, was for the same idol-looking boy to be squawking at his uncle. Guards were already flanking the two of them, and Call had no time to think about why the boy was talking to Rufus specifically. He ran over as fast as his leg allowed, unwilling to let the boy blame him. 

The boy caught sight of him, face glowering as he pointed a finger in his direction. “That’s him, sir!” he said desperately, “That’s the boy who snuck in and practically attacked me!”

Joseph caught Call, stopping his steps before he could do anything brash. “What do you mean “attacked”? I didn’t do anything wrong! It was just _soap!”_

The guy was about to open his mouth again, before William’s baritone erupted through the room. “Enough!” He said, glaring at both Call and the assholish boy. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Jasper,” he said, addressing the boy. Call’s eyes widened as he remembered what Joseph said earlier.

_“Lord Jasper’s jet will be arriving in just a few more minutes, Your Majesty. We are slightly ahead of schedule.”_

“That boy,” Rufus said, pointing a finger at Call but looking at Jasper, “Is Prince Callum of Genovia.”

Jasper’s eyes widened, mouth opening and closing again as he tried to find the right words. “That’s— that’s _him?”_ He sputtered, “But your Majesty! There’s no way some— some homeless boy like that is the prince!”

“You looked at me for one second and you just assumed all that?” Call said incredulously. He turned his gaze to his uncle, “This _asshole_ is supposed to be my tutor?”

“Callum!” his uncle barked, “Don’t provoke him.”

“Provoke?” Call said, _“He started it!”_

“You attacked me!” Jasper exclaimed, attempting to struggle out of Rufus’ hold.

“I spilt soap on you! What are you, a teenage Karen?”

“It doesn’t matter who started it!” Rufus said in frustration.

“It certainly mattered when you told me not to provoke him,” Call said under his breath, and the look his uncle gave him made him think he didn’t hide his words very well.

Above his head, he heard Joseph sigh as he loosened his grip on Call’s forearm. His hold felt less like restraining a danger, and more like a parent holding their kids on a grocery trip. “This kind of behaviour is uncalled for,” Joseph said, “It’s inappropriate for both of you.”

Rufus sighed, his face falling into something between disheartened and tired. From the glance Call spared at Jasper, the boy’s face confused him. Between multiple feelings showing up on his face, Call wondered what about his uncle made the boy look so horrified and disappointed.

“Yes, my king?” Joseph said, regarding William’s problematic expression.

“Joseph is correct,” he said, and Call has enough decency to start to feel bad about the tiredness in his voice. “I did not expect this kind of behaviour from either of you. I believed that I could trust you to be civil with each other.”

Jasper opened his mouth, but Rufus held a hand up, stopping him. “We shall discuss this at another time,” he said, sighing. “Come, Jasper must still be escorted to the hotel and Call is not allowed to go home alone.”

* * *

A: Hey C! How are you?

C: what kind of answer do u want

A: Hm? Wdym?

C: normally when people ask “how are you” they don’t expect u to actually answer with the truth and just say that ur fine

C: so i’m pretty much asking do u want the truth or for me to say i’m fine

A: I want you to tell me the truth. And when you’re done, you can select from 3 options

A: 1.) I listen then get your mind off it. 2.) I listen then give you advice. 3.) We don’t have to talk more about it at all

C: …okay

A: (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`) 

A: I’ll ask again. How are you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Call used a japansese emoticon ironically one (1) time and now Aaron used them unironically, at least once per conversation.
> 
> Anyway I hope this chapter flowed well. Please feel free to leave criticism, questions, observations, remarks and anything else! I'm a novice writer, still learning, so I'm happy for anything :))


	5. antecedent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> antecedent  
> (n) a thing or event that precedes another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had notes about this chapter on my sticky notes app, but it's been kinda broken lately so i don't have the notes i normally do. will update with the sticky notes.

“—should have heavier topics,” Tamara said as she and Call exited chemistry class. “It’s not like we’re sixth graders, we’ve discussed divorce in _small talk.”_

Call hummed, not really listening. The debate club’s discussions were so awfully vanilla, Call was only reminded of why he and Tamara never officially joined. He only wanted to come so he could take his mind off Jasper deWinter’s borderline abusive tutoring lessons.

He breezed through lessons about Genovian politics (Nearly enjoyed them, actually, if it weren’t for who was teaching them), but crossed a line at etiquette lessons. His shins still hurt from where Jasper hit them with a stick, trying to get him to walk straight. Call would’ve throttled him had his uncle not interrupted. Jasper was apparently still pissed at him for getting soap all over his clothes (Wouldn’t he have done the guy a favour? Run the Gucci shirt under water and consider it washed).

Weeks of shin-hitting and history lessons hadn’t changed his mind that the 4th in line to House deWinter was a cock. He didn’t know if they were supposed to, but they hadn’t. He was as much of a royal asshole as the moment Call met him. If anything, Call’s opinion of him has only gotten worse. Especially with his weird obsession of trying to please Uncle Rufus.

_A prick, an elitist and an ass-kisser. He’s got the whole Asshole Starter Pack, doesn’t he?_ Call thought, _He’s not even at the starting level. He’s a professional._

Tamara stopped beside him, and Call realized he hadn’t been listening to her talk. “Were you listening to anything I just said?” she asked, crossing her arms.

He sighed, “No, not really.”

Normally she’d be ticked, because she _hated_ when he didn’t listen to her. She’d tell him to listen then keep talking. If she was feeling especially sassy she’d snap her fingers if his eyes began to glaze over again. Instead, she only sighs in return. “What’s wrong?” she asked, and Call recalls why he loves her.

Then he feels bad, because he can’t actually tell her. “Stuff,” he answered, “Stuff I don’t want to talk about.”

Her eyes study his face. For a second he felt anxious, because when she searched his eyes like that more often than not she found the answer. He sent his gaze to the floor in front of them instead.

She knew they told each other everything. It was their pact. Because of that, he also knew she’d never make him talk about something he didn’t want to.

“Okay.” Is all she said. He wondered briefly how the day he’d actually tell her would go. (And he knows it might happen, because _if—_ emphasis on if— he does become prince, it’s not like he can hide it from her). (And that was only if he found a way to become prince and not end up like the stories his father told him).

Tamara started walking to the cafeteria, Call following up beside her. They got quiet for a second, until Call decided to ask, “What do you know about the deWinter family?”

She raised a brow at him, looking up at him out of the corner of her eye. He knew how out of the blue it was. “Well,” she started, “They’re pretty much just a villain family straight out of the movies. Baron deWinter’s transphobic, homophobic, sexist, racist— even though his wife is literally Japanese, which just makes it worse— and all that other shit.”

“His kids?” Call asked, because he already knew all that.

“Which one? He’s got six. Oldest pair daughters, middle pair of sons, and youngest pair of daughters. As far as I know— which is a lot actually— they’re all just like him.”

_Yeah, that checked out._

“Why are you so interested in Genovian politics all of a sudden?” she asked.

“Uh…” Call coughed into his fist, “No reason, just… curious.”

Before Tamara could voice the suspicions on her face, Call turned her body around to face the food. “Look, _it’s sushi day!”_

He ran to the line as fast as his leg would let him, Tamara sighing behind him.

Trays full of sushi (With extra sashimi for Call, because sometimes his mind is just filled with thoughts of fish), they made their way to their usual table with their other friends. Though by “usual table with other friends,” they mostly meant the table they first sat at because every other one was packed, then they just became friends with everyone else who sat there.

Taking a quick once-over at the scene, his eyes widened as he saw Celia sitting there. He didn’t know whether or not to expect her today, knowing half the time she’d sit here and the other half she’d sit with other semi-popular kids. That was the thing with both Celia and Tamara, they could be sitting with actual popular kids and instead chose to sit— and hang out with— a bunch of losers. Losers like Call. He didn’t get them at all.

“Hey, you guys!” Celia said brightly, short blond curls bouncing around her face. Though he knew she’d look beautiful in a trash bag, he could admit the vaguely 1930’s style did wonders for her cuteness. He looked away from her pretty blue eyes before he caught himself looking too long.

“Hi,” Tamara said politely, taking her usual seat next to Celia and Gwen. Call took his seat across from her, next to Rafe and Kai. Kai smiled at him nicely, whereas Rafe immediately tried to steal one of his tuna rolls.

As Call fended off the predators, Tamara talked with the two girls. “—I was thinking of doing a blog on it, actually, though I don’t know who I could rely on to test the alcohol.”

“Hey,” Rafe grinned at her, “If you’re looking to test underage drinking, you know I’m your guy.”

“You couldn’t even hold your first sip of beer, Rafe,” Gwen said, making the table laugh.

“I’d love to not do anything illegal, thanks,” Tamara said.

“Where was that attitude when you broke into the abandoned sanatorium on a live stream?” Call asked as he raised his brow, making the table laugh again.

“Well, I’ve already done underage drinking anyway. I need to make more blogs before I start recording the one about popularity.” Tamara said, rolling her eyes, “Call, will your dad let me drive you home after we brainstorm tonight?”

Call paused, remembering his lesson with Jasper later that night. He skipped one the other day, though he learned why he shouldn’t pretty fast. Now he was forced to go to another one to make up for it. Another dreaded session of trying to miraculously make his limp disappear.

(Okay, so maybe that was a little dramatic since Jasper had gotten more realistic after the fourth time Call yelled at him. Didn’t change how he wanted Call to stop “sitting like the hunchback of Notre Dame”)

He’d love to just skip and spend the night brainstorming ideas with Tamara, but he knew it was unavoidable.

“Actually, I can’t make it tonight,” he said, as casually as he could. In an instant, the loud table quieted down as his friends stared at him.

“…What?” he said.

“You’ve never said _that_ before,” Rafe noted, half-jokingly. He cups his face in his deep brown hands, dark curls falling into his face. Call can admit Rafe is cute, he isn’t known as a playboy for no reason. If he wasn’t generally the way he is, Call might’ve liked him. “What you busy with?”

“Yeah,” Tamara said, voice alarmingly calm. She even temporarily put down her chopsticks. “What you busy with, Call?”

“I have to do stuff,” he said, unsubtly trying to hide his face in his food, “It’s just this once, I swear.”

Tamara’s lips thinned into a line, “I guess it’s fine,” she said. “It’s not like I can’t do it alone.”

“Is it an emergency, Call?” Celia asked, voice high-pitched with the slightest hint of concern. “You and Tamara normally have a pretty strict schedule.”

As Call fumbled with _oh’s_ and _uh’s_ , Gwen waggled her brows. She smirked lightly, showing off her pearly whites. “Got a date, Hunt?”

He furrowed his brows, “What? Where’d you get that idea?”

Gwen gasped, “OMG, you actually are? I was kidding!”

“Are you— _No, I’m not!”_

Celia giggled, “No one says that unless they’re actually going on a date.”

The table sparks into conversation, his friends teasing him mercilessly as his denial fell on deaf ears. (At the exception of his beautiful friend Kai, the only person who is not annoying. Mostly because he doesn’t talk even half as much as they do)

“Speaking of dates,” Celia said, “Do you guys already know who you’re asking to silver prom?”

_Silver prom_ , meaning the “funky” new name the school called what was pretty much junior prom. It doesn’t really sound that bad, and Call wouldn’t have minded it that much if they didn’t also call senior prom "golden prom".

“It’s in May,” Call said. “We’ve got time.”

“That’s what people who won’t have dates say, Call,” Tamara said, effectively betraying her best friend forever. “I’ve been trying to help him ask people, but he won’t budge.”

“That means there’s someone you actually want to ask, then,” Gwen said, “Who’s the lucky person?”

Ignoring Rafe’s _“Assuming Call isn’t a monsterfucker”,_ Call stammers to answer. “No one! Tamara gives me people I could ask, but I- I don’t like any of them.”

Celia smiles at him, practically giving Call a toothache with all the sweetness. “If you want, we can go together as friends?”

…As friends.

_…FRIENDS._

It’s every man’s worst nightmare. It’s both Call’s dreams and nightmares in one sentence.

“N-no!” he said. He backtracked immediately, seeing Celia’s face contort into hurt. “Wait, no, I mean I’d _love_ to go with you, but I mean— I’d wanna— Not as fri—”

He cleared his throat. “I mean, uh, I’ll… think about it. I didn’t mean to say no like that. It was more of instinct then what I actually meant, you know? Uh…”

Celia laughed, little giggle tainted slightly by something uncomfortable. “Okay, I get it.” She smiled at him, albeit a little awkward, and Call kind of wanted to die now.

* * *

If he banged his head against the wall until he passed out, would anyone stop him? He suddenly felt like he really wanted to, and he wondered if it would be cool to know you’d be fine afterwards.

His stupid reaction replayed in his head without his consent, making his face red. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to force the shame away. _Jesus Christ,_ he probably just fucked it all up. 

There it was, the perfect opportunity to go to prom _with the girl you actually like…_ and he practically told her he doesn’t want to go with her. He felt like he should apologize, and he wanted to, he really did. Maybe some other day though, when he didn’t want to bury his head in the floor like an ostrich.

He rounded the corner outside the cafeteria, knowing he’d be early to his next class. He wanted to get up and leave the table the exact moment Celia started looking awkward. So, he did. He didn’t think he could handle the embarrassment for a second longer. The halls were emptier than usual, due to most people being at lunch. Some people did eat in other spots in the school (Like in the bathroom, where Call shamefully ate his own food for a solid three and a half months back when he was twelve), but most places were just inconvenient.

The groups of people thinned as he got to the classrooms, half of them completely empty. Most people didn’t have any reason to stay in them, unless they were in a program, getting detention, sometimes getting another type of d, too. He ran into the last one too many times.

The hall directly before Call’s class was awfully empty though, save for one sound coming from an empty classroom.

“—burning out from all the work.”

“There’s no such thing, Aaron. You just need to strengthen your passion, student council is all about working hard for the sake of the school.”

_What?,_ Call thought, stopping behind the slightly opened doors. Though he didn’t know either voice, when he heard the words ‘Aaron’ and ‘student council’, the first person who came to mind was Aaron Stewart. All blond hair and green eyes, as athletic as he was popular. As annoyingly cute as he was annoyingly nice. Was probably on two sports teams and was definitely on the student council.

“I’m on the soccer team too, and I’m trying to keep my grades up for my scholarship,” Call heard the first speaker say. He peeked his eye through the slit between the doors, his sight landing on Aaron himself, talking to someone Call couldn’t see. 

Call hadn’t known anything about a scholarship.

For a second, he felt like he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. The unreadable expression on Aaron’s face mystified him, and his brain traitorously wondered how he could still look cute while staying stone-faced. “I’m getting too busy,” Aaron said, “Things are getting kinda stressful.”

Call hadn’t known anything about that either. Aaron seemed like the kind of guy who could be soccer captain, class president, and valedictorian all at once. Probably while being around other equally popular and hot friends all the time, too.

“I don’t know what you’d like me to do about that, Stewart. Things are always stressful, it’s better to learn how to deal with it as it goes on.”

“I’m just asking for a week off,” Aaron said, and Call could hear a hint of tiredness in his voice, masked by fake nonchalance. “I’ll still send reports on class and club activities, I just want to sit out of funding talk until Friday.”

“As an officer, you can’t opt out of anything unless it’s an emergency. You should’ve known that when you signed up, we made it explicitly clear.” He heard the other person scoff. Call suddenly remembered why Tamara opted out of joining the student council. “You’re free to quit the council if you’d like. Some members don’t feel like you’re… er, very passionate.”

_Passionate my ass,_ Call thought. He could smell the bullshit from over here. He doesn’t even know this guy, and it was already obvious he was looking for a way to say _we don’t really like you._

…Well, if he could feel it all the way over here, imagine what Aaron must be feeling. Ouch.

Call watched Aaron’s expression turn sour for just a second, before he seemed to think better of it. When he saw Aaron’s head move in his direction, he turned tail and did his best to be quiet as he sprinted to his classroom.

* * *

By the time Call had finished the night's lesson, the conversation he'd eavesdropped on was dropped from his mind.

When he said he couldn’t walk straight because his left leg actually couldn’t function for a good part of his life, he thought that was the end of it. Yes, it was a big insecurity point at first, but surely people aren’t gonna bully a _prince_ for his disability, right?

(Even before he thought it, he knew it was wrong. The world’s far crueler than most people know.)

(Or, in the words of his father, _the world of politics will prey on anything that makes you different.)_

What he didn’t consider was the possibility that Jasper was gonna make him use a fucking cane. An actual _cane_ that looked like it was made for a bald white guy with a grey handlebar moustache and a top-hat, probably a little monocle too.

“This would’ve been better if it made me look like an anime character,” he’d said to Jasper’s smug face. “But no, I just look like Mr Monopoly.” The speed at which Jasper’s expression turned exasperated was hilarious.

(He still hadn’t gotten Jasper to laugh at one of his jokes. He either got mortally offended or extremely annoyed, though Call was a little surprised he understood them at all. He didn’t mind that much, since Jasper’s still a flying prick, but maybe Call would’ve liked him better if he had an actual sense of humour)

His uncle, who had funded the cane purchase, had recommended Call use it while at school. Call quickly denied the offer, and so the cane became exclusive to his lessons at Joseph’s hotel. (The hotel Call already forgot the name of. Weather? Walter? Something? He’ll check on the way out)

Call saw Rufus’s limousine outside the glass doors as he walked through the hotel lobby. He finger-gunned the guards, who only nodded at him. Though his favourite guard Bobby snapped a finger-gun at him too. That’s why Bobby’s his favourite.

Walking down the hotel stairs, his uncle’s driver who Call had forgotten the name of but was too scared to ask opened the door for him. He slid inside, surprised to be greeted with his uncle. “Oh,” he said, “Uh, hey.”

His uncle raised a bushy dark brow at him, “‘Hey’?” he said. “I believed the lessons lord deWinter was giving you were working.”

“I don’t know about them working, but,” Call answered, “I don’t think your presence turns my ‘this guy’s royalty’ switch on.”

“You don’t see me like a king, then?” His uncle said, and Call’s eyes widened microscopically. He wondered how to answer that before he saw his uncle’s lip quirk up slightly. Almost like he was pleased.

“Uh…unless that bothers you, or?”

William’s normally stoic face quirks up so slightly, Call could barely notice. The smile on his face was visible though, and for a second Call thought there was just something slightly sour in his uncle’s drink.

“No,” he said, the tone in his baritone voice sounding almost pleased. It sounded really weird. “Not at all, Callum.”

Something about that rubbed Call in the wrong way. If his uncle noticed his weird expression, he ignored it. He motioned toward the drink selection in the limo, seemingly forgetting it’s nearly all alcohol and Call’s only sixteen. He elected to grab a bag of M&Ms instead.

“Speaking of,” Rufus said, pulling something out of his suit jacket. (Which surprised the fuck out of Call, because how did he not see its silhouette? His uncle’s suit’s a pretty tight fit) As he held it out between the two of them, Call could see that it was a velvet red box. The type that would be holding an engagement ring, and it looked about the same size too, if not slightly bigger.

Rufus nodded to it, and Call realized he wanted him to take it. He did, and the softness of the velvet surprised him at first touch. He flipped open the lid, in a haphazard way that he probably shouldn’t be doing with something that must be precious. Inside, there was a pendant with no cord or chain, made of two gold otters swimming around a ruby rose. On the bottom of the lid, there was the emblem of Genovia in quality-looking enamel.

“What is this?” he asked, taking the pendant out of the box.

“A gift,” Rufus said, folding his hands over his knee as Call admired the pendant. It weighed heavier than Call thought it would, and he thought it might be made of solid gold.

“For me?” he asked, and no matter how bad it sounded, he’ll admit he was already thinking of how much he’d get if he pawned it. No new points in his “good prince behaviour” column there.

“Well,” William said, and Call already didn’t like the sound of it. “It’s a gift for you to give to someone else.”

Call paused. One of the prettiest (And probably one of the most expensive) things he’s ever held in his hands, and he has to _give it away_. “You mean, for you to give to me and I have to keep it, right?”

His uncle hummed bemusedly. “Not quite, unfortunately,” he said, and Call had to stop himself from clutching the pendant to his chest possessively. He wasn’t a fancy guy, or a necklace guy, or generally a jewellery guy, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to keep it. (He didn’t know what he’d actually do with it, but that doesn’t matter). 

“Traditionally, members of the royal family gave those pendants to people they would like to form a friendship with, but in a personal and non-political way. The special thing about it is that it is only given to common people and not officials, politicians or other royalty.”

Call briefly wondered whether or not he’d heard of it before. “But you won’t get free healthcare or something?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

His uncle’s brow raised in an amused way, “Genovia already has free healthcare, Callum. We’re not barbarians.”

Call looked at it closer, slowly realizing something it reminded him of. “By ‘friendship’, do you mean courting gift? Didn’t you give something like this to uncle Sam when you asked him out?”

His uncle’s face showed the most surprise Call had ever seen on him in his whole life.

He coughed into his fist, averting Call’s eyes for only a nanosecond. “Let’s not talk about that,” he said, voice slightly stiff, “And it isn’t a courting gift.”

For a second, Call felt like he could almost relate to his royal king uncle. _Love’s tough,_ he almost wanted to say. He was pretty sure the forty-something year old man already knew that.

“So I just give it to one of my friends? Doesn’t seem like much of a tradition.”

“You don’t give it to someone you’re already friends with. Its purpose is to tell someone that you enjoy their company, and would simply like to be better friends with them. It’s tradition shown to inspire new connections between the royal family and the citizens of Genovia.”

“There’s a bit of superstition around these pendants as well,” William said, intriguing Call. “The person you gave them to would supposedly never refuse your desire for friendship, and were granted luck.”

“Yeah, maybe the luck part is connected to how you’re pretty much telling people ‘Look, the royal family likes me!’” Call said, making his voice high pitched and squeaky as he imitated someone he didn’t know. He didn’t turn his head to look at his uncle, but he didn’t need to in order to know how annoyed he was.

He guessed he couldn’t give it to Tamara. She’s his _best_ friend, she’s the furthest thing from someone he wanted to get closer to. He was pretty sure if they were any closer that would be veering into some feelings he did not have. It couldn’t be Celia, because it wasn’t supposed to be a romantic thing and he was already good friends with her. He briefly considered giving it to Rafe before remembering that while he was a necklace person, he’d probably toss it down a drain on accident.

Kai, the quiet sweetheart, would love it— but he’s already a good friend of Call’s. Gwen seemed pretty promising, on all accounts. Though considering they talked everyday, the rest might think it’s favouritism. He could give it to someone he wasn’t really friends with, but then he remembered he didn’t actually like anyone outside his lunch table.

Someone he wanted to be better friends with, then? He guessed there was someone who could come to mind.

(Later, he remembered he forgot to check the name of the hotel on his way out.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to leave a thought, question, constructive crit. or anything else ^^
> 
> this is my second fic ever, so I'm still a baby writer! any words and feedback are fully appreciated :)


	6. espionage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamara is let in on a secret.

Call had been getting busier recently. He’s sure Tamara’s noticed.

It’s pretty obvious at this point. He’s had a pseudo-schedule with Tamara practically since they first met, which barely ever strayed. It was mostly just hanging out every single day for as long as possible until Tamara had a lesson or something. But it was a schedule, and they followed it like religion. Call especially— he  _ never  _ skipped out on her, he normally didn’t have anything else to do but follow her like a puppy.

(Except for Thursdays, because that’s movie night with his dad. Recently, Alastair hadn’t been able to make it as often as he used to, but it’s okay.)

He did his best not to skip out on her too often, minimizing it to just a few times a month. Considering there are only four weeks in the month though, even twice might’ve been too often.

“Sit up straight!” Jasper said, smacking at Call’s arm. His punch was pretty weak, but it was still annoying. His vexing tenor raised an octave whenever he was exasperated, which was pretty much every time Call’s near him.

Call only groaned in response, rudely being reminded of his activity for the night. His forehead thumped against the car window, trying to drown out the other boy’s nagging.

* * *

She thinks he’d been looking too clean recently. He barely ever combs his hair but sometimes, she finds herself almost able to comb it with her fingers. Not once in his entire life has he ever polished his Magisterium crest, but his silver one looks awfully new. He irons his uniform (sometimes) but it’s never been steam pressed before. His broad shoulders and arms look far better with it, and that’s the exact reason why she found it weird.

(Tamara doubts he even owns a steam presser. The Hunts were well off due to Call’s mystery uncle, but Mr Hunt would never see the need to buy one when they’ve got a perfectly good iron.)

She’s suspicious.

She told him she had an additional ballet class that Friday, which made zero sense but he still bought it. He always trusted her blindly— when she brought up something political he didn’t know, he’d just take her side on it. He trusted her not to believe in anything he considered unethical. It made her feel a little bad about the whole  _ following him  _ thing, but if it were something super private he would’ve told her, right?

The first weird thing was that instead of walking home, Call  _ got into a fucking limo. _ To put it in more vulgar terms, that immediately set off her  _ what-the-fuck _ bells. She’d speed-dialled her driver and told him to “Follow that car!” like she was in an action movie.

Turns out her middle-aged driver, Stevie, had a mysterious past because this guy followed them like a fucking pro. She could still see them, with the comforting fact that they couldn’t see her. She’s sure Call would’ve recognized her BMW in a second.

The black limo cruised into a street Tamara was familiar with, having been to every single fancy restaurant on the block thrice. Her eyes widened in surprise when it pulled up in front of one of her favourites.

She wasn’t able to watch Call get out of the car, too busy trying to find her way in without them noticing. She’s suddenly glad her sister once flirted with one of the waiters, because with a little finesse and a small sacrifice of Kimiya probably yelling at her later, she was in.

(She’d never been in a restaurant kitchen before. She was pleasantly surprised to see it looked as good as it did in movies. At least she knew where her food was coming from now.)

It felt too risky to walk through the restaurant freely, wherever Call could see her. She didn’t have the stealth to search for him without risking him seeing her first. Or maybe she did, she’s never really tried.

She settled on nicking the hostesses’ reservations list, hoping to find a familiar name under the letter H. (It was worryingly easy. Or maybe it was her ego talking.)

Her fist tightened in frustration when she couldn’t find the Hunt name anywhere on the list. Call couldn’t have snuck in or something, he would never want to in the first place. He could’ve been here at dinner with his uncle or something, but she didn’t know Call’s uncle’s last name either. There was no way to find him.

Tamara resisted the urge to grind her teeth in frustration. Though her mother would love it, she’d hate to do anything to dull her sharp canines. She would take one look everywhere she could, but if she couldn’t find him then she just had to move on with it. She didn’t know if following him again could be an option, but that just depended on her mood.

She moved carefully, into hallways and staircases, into anywhere guests could’ve been. A set of white glass panel doors caught her attention, large and ornate and peering into the garden outside. Ducking behind a wall, she checked again to see if her eyes were tricking her. Call sat at one of the tables, a candle casting gold light on his face.

The most surprising part to Tamara, was the gorgeous boy sitting across from him.

* * *

He would’ve loved to spend his Friday night doing anything else, but that simply wasn’t his destiny, wasn’t it? He thinks it’s bullshit, he had complaints for Ms Destiny.

_ At least the food was good,  _ he grumbled inside his brain. He crossed his arms, trying to ignore Jasper’s yip-yapping about Call’s shit dining manners.

Were his father in the house right now, he would’ve never allowed a noble other than uncle Rufus in. Call wished he was, just so he had an excuse to not let Jasper inside, but the asshole had just let himself in and then critiqued the furniture. At least he had the decency to shut up when Call almost-yelled at him for the second time in fifteen minutes.

Speaking of his uncle, the man himself had just gone to the bathroom with a newspaper ten minutes ago, and it was clear he wasn’t coming out soon. Call had no idea why the fuck he was even here. Why either of them were here, in fact. He thought he would ride with Jasper to the restaurant and then go home. After their manners training dinner, his uncle had joined them on the way home,

Jasper was in Call’s room for the first time, almond eyes narrowing at Call’s unmade bed and less-than-fancy belongings. Though he was visibly surprised at Call’s flatscreen. Ha. (“Are you sure you can afford the electricity bill?” Jasper had asked snidely.)

Call sat on the bed, trying not to stare as Jasper strolled around his room. He looked at everything but Call’s eyes, and if he were in his place he’d have done the same. The awkwardness was palpable, but he wasn’t about to leave Jasper unsupervised in his room. He doubted the rich brat would steal anything from him, but he didn’t think he was above graffiti. (Though he saw why Jasper would want to steal from him. Can’t find limited-edition DC comics in a fancy castle, can you?)

Eyes trained on Jasper’s person, Call got surprised by the sound of the doorbell. The sharp ring broke the house’s quiet atmosphere, making them both jump.

Wrinkling his brows, Call stood up. “I’m gonna go get that. Don’t fuck up my stuff.”

Jasper’s face twisted into a sneer, “No promises.”

Call only rolled his eyes and left the room. He’d like to say it was because he’s above being petty and that Jasper didn’t deserve his answer. In reality, he was definitely petty enough, he was just too tired and too used to the other boy’s shit.

Shuffling through the living room, he was so dead on his feet he had to take a second to register who was at the door. “Tamara?” he said, squinting at her.

She had her arms crossed over her chest, and her face was morphed in displeasure. He instantly knew he was fucked.

Without letting him speak, she walked past him and sat on the living room couch. Her demeanour changed in an instant; she threw one leg over the other, placed her hands on her knee, leaned forward just a bit. He watched her face slowly morph into a dangerous sort of politeness, feeling a stone get thrown into his stomach.

“Hello Call,” she said. He’s definitely fucked. “May I ask what you were doing at  _ homard rouge?” _

He probably wouldn’t have known what she was talking about, had Jasper not forced him to practice saying the restaurant’s name on the car trip there. He hoped Tamara wasn’t counting on him to know. “...What?” he said, playing dumb.

Tamara looked like she bought it, but did not look like she was letting up. “The restaurant. What were you doing at that restaurant earlier that night?”

“How the hell would you know I was there?”

“I followed you, duh.”

“Tam, what? Are you fucking kidding me—”

Tamara burst into a frustrated groan, her forehead wrinkling with impatience. “I want to know why you didn’t tell me you were seeing someone!”

Call paused, “What?”

Her mouth curved in obvious displeasure, almost glaring at him now. “Why didn’t you tell me you were on a date?” she asked, “I thought we told each other that stuff. We tell each other everything, right? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Call had words on the tip of his tongue and yet he didn’t know what to say at the same time. “Tam, that wasn’t a date!”

She sighed at him, frowning like she was looking at a lost cause. Wow, okay. “Sure. A candlelit dinner at a fancy expensive restaurant with only one other guy isn’t a date. Where’d you get the money for that, by the way? Actually, on second thought, you definitely didn’t pay—”

Before Call could interrupt her, he heard a loud slam from upstairs, making them both jump. In the next second, he saw a black and brown shadow bound through the halls, Jasper running after it. Havoc was about to run down the stairs before Jasper caught him.

“I told you not to go into the bathroom!” Call yelled.

“I didn’t know you had a fucking  _ wolf  _ in there!” Jasper growled. Then he noticed the guest.

“Oh,” he said, “Um. Hello.”

Wiping the baffled expression off her face, Tamara turned to Call as she placed her hands on her hips. “...Your boyfriend was going through your bathroom, and that  _ wasn't  _ a date?”

Ignoring Jasper’s confused echo of  _ “boyfriend?”,  _ Call was about to open his mouth before a flush was heard through the room. His uncle came out of the first-floor bathroom, Armani suit perfectly crisp, pink bunny slippers very fluffy, and the newspaper in hand.

“Callum, you must tell your father to purchase a higher quality soap, I could recommend— oh.” He glanced at the scene before him. “Am I interrupting something?”

* * *

Call would explain Tamara’s following breakdown in detail, if it wouldn’t have taken effort he didn’t have. He’ll just say she freaked the fuck out, politely greeted and had a lovely conversation with the king of Genovia, and asked why Call went on a date with a socialite from one of Genovia’s most controversial families. Not all in that order.

“You tell me all this shit about  _ conversational skills  _ and  _ greeting other nobles properly  _ and you fucking say ‘oh hello’ when you first meet Tamara?” Call whispered into Jasper’s ear at some point during the commotion. He thought he imagined Jasper’s red face, but he definitely did not imagine the weak punch to his shoulder.

“So you’re trying to tell me,” Tamara said as Call’s bed dipped under her weight, “That you’re the crown prince of Genovia?”

“...Yeah, pretty much.” Call said, sat on the floor of his room as he pet Havoc. Jasper had complained when Call made him leave with his uncle, saying he wanted to stay for whatever reason. Call just told him to shut up.

She looked fucking constipated and simultaneously disgusted by her constipation. Call knew that if anyone else were in the room Tamara wouldn’t have that expression on her face. It’s only him though, and she could trust him with anything. That’s why he was telling her this. That, and also at this point he couldn’t even hide it anymore.

She looked at him like she had just caught him peeling off his flesh suit to reveal a Lovecraftian monster. He kept his eyes on the floor, focusing on the cheese stain on his carpet that had gotten pretty gross after being there for two weeks. They were both quiet, but thoughts of what to do or say now were racing through his brain.

She caught him off guard when she started laughing. His head snapped up to look at her and saw her eyes wide in amusement. So wide it looked a little creepy. Her laughter turned manic, and it was clear she was trying to stop, but when she did she’d burst out again in a second. 

She only stopped laughing after a whole seven minutes and three glasses of water.

“Okay,” is the first thing she said. “Holy fucking shit then. Can I join those royalty lessons sometime?”

* * *

Call doesn’t exactly have a frame of reference for people’s reactions when they’re told their best friend is royalty, but he thinks Tamara took it rather well. She had a fuckton of questions, but he knew she would. Talking about his new, “secret” life made him feel better than he thought it would.

She did get upset at him for apparently being “friends” with a deWinter— a fact he corrected fast. What surprised him was that she didn’t get upset over the fact he hid such a secret from her for so long.

_ “I would’ve done the same thing,”  _ she told him.  _ “I probably would’ve hidden it better, but to be fair I didn’t know until I had to follow you.” _

_ “I can’t believe you fucking followed me,”  _ he’d said.

_ “You would’ve done the same thing!” _

Well. She was right. But still.

When Call brought her with him to sit in on one of his etiquette lessons, Jasper didn’t even believe she was his friend. He didn’t say it, too busy trying to put up a fake nice persona in front of her, but Call could see it anyway. It was what Call was thinking all the time anyway— how could someone like  _ Tamara  _ actually like being around, much less be best friends with, someone like  _ Call? _

“I thought talking about the weather was a thing people didn’t even do. Like something they just  _ said  _ they did, in like, movies.” Call said, his weight dipping the soft armchair significantly. Jasper smacked his hand, straightening Call’s back with his free one.

They were in Jasper’s suite at Joseph’s hotel (The  _ Walther _ hotel, that Call kept forgetting), having emigrated there from Rufus’s suite. Call and Jasper had apparently gotten too noisy with all the shouting, according to him. And Call had progressed enough with the lessons that he didn’t need any “overseeing”.

Like it was him who needed supervision. If anything, Jasper should be the one getting monitored for abuse of power. Call suspected the position of power, plus being super elitist, plus being super arrogant, didn’t make a very fair teacher.

“Do you  _ ever  _ stop talking?” Jasper asked.

Call grinned, “Annoying and proud.”

Jasper rolled his eyes. “You  _ shouldn’t  _ be. A prince is always mannered and polite— a good one anyway.”

Okay, ouch.

“He’s even more of an ass then I thought he was,” Tamara said from her place on the sofa, leaning to whisper in Call’s ear as Jasper walked away.

Call snorted, “You thought he was ever nice?”

She smirked, “No, but I at least thought he’d put more effort into hiding it.”

He snickered, “Don’t worry, he has way more respect for you than he ever would for me. At least you can play the princess.”

“Oh my prince,” Tamara said, in a funny faux-princess accent. “Dost thou spare a lady a dance?”

He was so sure that grammar was wrong. He definitely didn’t know the right version anyway. “I would, m’ lady, hast I not needed a Mr Moneybags cane because thy left leg is fucked.”

Willingly trying to muffle their laughter, they didn’t notice Jasper’s return. “What are you two laughing about?”

Casting his gaze at the boy, Call’s eyes widened at the sight of his cane in his hands. “No! Get away from me with that thing, not today!”

As Jasper raised his brows in annoyance, Tamara said, “Is that the cane you were talking about?”

“Yes,” Jasper said, pointing accusingly at Call. “And  _ you  _ said you would practice with it today.”

“Tomorrow! I’ll do it tomorrow instead,” Call said, his plea falling on Jasper’s deaf ears. “Christ dude, my knees are still fucking sore from last time. I’ll practice tomorrow or something, I fucking swear.”

“This is the  _ last  _ thing we have to do today,” Jasper said, annoyed. “Otherwise, we could just organize your makeover instead.”

“Yeah, that, fine, whatever.” Call agreed, not really listening to what he said. He paused, catching Tamara’s surprised expression and Jasper’s predatory one.

“Great,” Jasper said, voice very condescendingly delighted. “Let’s take a break then, or end this lesson here, I don’t care. I’ll go arrange it.” He placed the cane to lean on the armrest of Call’s chair, walking away with just a few strides of his long legs.

...Did he just agree to what he thought he agreed to?

He got up from the armchair and slumped over on the sofa, laying his head on Tamara’s lap. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled by her amused chuckles.

“That’s a pretty good idea,” Tamara said, “if you get a good makeover, you’ll stop looking like a dollar store male model.”

“Bold of you to assume I look like a male model.”

“I said dollar store, didn’t I?”

Call jokingly rolled his eyes as Tamara giggled at him, a smile sweeping across his face. 

Later on, deep into conversation, Call barely noticed his phone vibrating with a notification. Tamara smacked his arm lightly, not meaning to hurt him. “Your phone, dumbass.”

Call picked it up, showing a banner of a text from A.

_ A: Dude the kpop fandom is incredible _

_ A: A BTS fanfic is the second most popular work in the slow build tag on Ao3?? It’s also the MOST popular gangster AU??? _

Chuckling softly, Call didn’t even notice the smile on his face. Tamara did.

“Alright, so Jasper’s not your boyfriend, but you definitely do have one right?”

Call scoffed, “Yeah right. The only person I like right now is Celia.”

“Oh really?” She said, voice smug. She cupped her face in her hands, looking up at him with a single perfectly tweezed brow raised. “Who were you smiling at so nicely just now?”

“He’s a friend, Tam.”

“You don’t have any friends I don’t already know about.”

Call laughed, trying to feel offended but failing.

“Hey, if he’s a student and you _ like him so much,” _ Tamara started, smacking his shoulder lightly in teasing. “You should ask him to the silver prom, huh?”

He chuckled along with her, knowing she was kidding.

Ask him to prom, eh? Doesn’t sound like a half-bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor rufus, he just wants to bond with his nephew but literally doesn't know how to talk to him about anything.
> 
> tamara knew jasper's face, she just didn't recognize him on sight. she definitely knew rufus's face on sight though lol


	7. status quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> status quo  
> the existing state of affairs, especially regarding social or political issues.
> 
> In which one relationship devolves and another evolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quintessential scene happens, and i feel so bad i left aaron out of it.
> 
> this chapter took longer than usual to write, which is a lot of time. i fell out of my writing schedule and when that happens, it's difficult to get back into it ☹️. thank you for being patient with me, and waiting for this chapter.

Bobby the security guard shot Call a finger-gun as he walked past. Verity the fountain statue woman stared at him, cold as ever. The cold air of the lobby turned warmer as he entered the restaurant, the very real fire burning a comfortable heat. He picked up a few scoops of ice cream before heading up to the suite.

The afternoon sun was gold as it came through the large windows. Call would’ve asked his dad to drive him today, but he knew he’d refuse. His father already didn’t like him spending so much time with Jasper, he would never want to bring him there himself.

The suite was less clean than he thought it would be, but he knew that was probably his fault. It actually looked  _ lived in  _ now. There was a box of chocolates on the coffee table, one of many gifts he finessed from name dropping the king of Genovia. There was a large collection of flowers on the TV stand, a midnight “fuck it why not” gift for Tamara. He was hoping to find the Twister mat from the other day still on the common room floor, but it, unfortunately, wasn’t.

He expected a cleaner state from Jasper’s suite, but he guessed not.  _ Hey,  _ Call thought, taking a teasing tone even in his thoughts. It was something Pavlovian when it came to Jasper at this point,  _ what if he likes my messiness then, huh? _

Jasper was scrolling through something on his phone, slumping into the couch.

“HA!” Call yelled triumphantly, breaking the silence of the elegant suite. He pointed accusingly, wide grin occupying his face. “You do slouch! Ha, you’ve been telling me,  _ oh, a prince doesn’t even slouch when he’s alone,  _ you hypocrite!”

Jasper scowled, face beet red. He held up his phone to his chest like he thought Call wanted to steal it or something. He grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa and threw it at Call’s face. “Oh,  _ shove it up your own!” _

* * *

Around half an hour later, after an epic pillow fight, the Siri-like voice rung through the large room.  _ “Tamara Rijavi is requesting access to floor twenty-three.” _

“Let her in,” Jasper says loudly in the direction of the elevator doors. He and Call weren’t talking, only on their phones, slumped over the opposite ends of the long sofa.

Tamara reacted pretty well to the flowers. Call had always doubted roses actually had a scent, but she said these smelled like sweet tea. He really didn’t know enough about them to refute her or not.

Looking oddly stiff, Jasper quickly explained that his beautician would be arriving in less than an hour and that if she wanted Tamara could help him buy Call a few new outfits.

“We would have to fly to New York for your whole closet,” Jasper said, “But a few outfits from Asheville couldn’t be…  _ too  _ bad.”

Jasper sat at the other end of the couch as Call and Tamara started talking side by side. Call noticed the boy retreat to his phone, completely blocking the screen from their view. Tamara tapped him on the shoulder, showing him something she typed on her phone.

_ have i told you people are making fanfic of you? Like fanfic of the long-lost crown prince or princess of genovia _

Spitting out the leftover chocolates he was eating, he stared at her wide-eyed, “No fucking way.”

She snickered, “Yes way.”

Call mentally chanted to himself  _ holyfuckingshit,  _ as she typed out something else.

_ jasper was reading some. i saw it _

Laughter spilt from Tamara’s mouth as Call chokes again. At the same time, the Siri-like voice rings through the room again.  _ “The Order of Disorder is requesting access to floor twenty-three.” _

Catching Call’s confused face, Jasper explains, “That’s the salon I go to back in Genovia. I had to fly them over here.”

Dutifully ignoring Call’s mutter of  _ “The fuck kind of name is that?”,  _ Jasper says, “Let them in!”

Moments later, Jasper rises to greet them as the elevator opens. “Bonjour Lemuel, Alma, Andreas! Je suis ravi de te voir,” he says politely, fake smile plastered on so well Call almost thought the guy was capable of happiness.

Due to Call’s fairly basic knowledge of French, if he wasn’t wrong that meant something like “I’m glad to see you,” or… something. As the steel doors slid open, a trio of people slipped out, the one on the left smiling politely at Jasper’s greeting.

“Lord Jasper! Comment avez-vous  été?”  The one in the middle said, her voice sickly sweet. She ignored Call completely, stepping towards Jasper. “May we begin, my lord? Where is the handsome young prince?”

Jasper smiled as he pointed towards Call, stood right beside Alma. “My tutee, prince Callum.”

She took her first glance at Call for the first time that day and gave a tiny screech, startling the room. “He is, uh— dashing!” she said, in a tone that conveyed otherwise.

“My name is Alma, my prince.” The woman did a small curtsy as she introduced herself, “This is Lemuel and Andreas,” she said, the two men next to her giving Call a bow as they were introduced. The strict-looking one, Lemuel, eyed Call weirdly.

“Lemuel used to teach at my school back in Genovia,” Jasper whispered into Call’s ear. “That’s how I know him. He was fired, but I’m glad he got another stable job.”

Alma took Call by the shoulders, leading him to the vanity in the bedroom. Lemuel and Andreas got to work immediately, pulling out tons of bottles and products and weird device things that were probably for makeup that he’d never seen before. Would they put makeup on him? Was that a thing for princes?

“Well, its’ time for Tamara and I to go, then,” Jasper said, his tone smug as he saw Call’s eyes widen. Call agreed to let them go, but that was  _ before  _ they met the group of beauticians who were named after a cult. “We’ll be back in just a few hours, Call!”

Eyes wide in panic, Call’s vision focuses on the reflection of Alma in the vanity in front of him. “Don’t worry, my prince,” she said as she stroked his knotted, matted hair. “We will make you  _ debonair.” _

* * *

“My prince, have you ever considered getting your ears pierced?”

“Um, I guess I have thought about it before… but I’ve never actually done it. I know it’s a tradition for royals in Genovia, but my dad would ki—”  _ click. _

“...Did you just pierce my ear?”

“You broke my brush, my prince.”

* * *

“I love your eyebrows. If Brooke Shields married Groucho Marx that child would have your eyebrows.”

* * *

“May I tell you a secret, my prince?” Alma said as she grabbed two slices of cucumber and placed them over Call’s eyes.

He laid on his back, slumping on the recliner they were using as a spa chair. His hair was wrapped in a small towel, soaking in some sort of product that was as cold as the green mask on his face. From above his face, he heard a crunch as Alma likely placed a slice in her mouth.

“Tell me,” someone said, and Call could tell it was Andreas because his voice was just as manic as his face looked.

“The cucumber does nothing,” Alma said, her giggle sounding like a maniac. “This is something we make up!”

* * *

“We’re back!” Tamara yelled, some few hours later. Jasper’s suite is even messier than when they’d left it— beauty products strewn on every horizontal surface, a few snack wrappers more than before. They barely managed to find enough space to set their shopping bags down.

Alma walked out from the bedroom, Lemuel and Andreas trailing her. They were hiding Call’s face with two large pictures of his face, which was weird.

“Hello, my lord, my lady,” Alma greeted, referring to both Jasper and Tamara respectively. Jasper sent an approving look Tamara’s way, watching her face get smug as she realised  _ she  _ was the lady. “Please, sit down. You must prepare yourselves for the prince’s big reveal!”

“I am simply  _ exhausted,  _ my lord,” Alma started. “Because, you see, only  _ I  _ can take  _ this— _ ” she gestures to the pictures of Call’s face, hiding his real one. Behind the pictures, real-Call makes a face as he hears Jasper snort. “—and give you a  _ prince.” _

Call has no idea what face he’s supposed to make as they ‘reveal’ him. He doesn’t have much time to think about it, either.

Jasper and Tamara both seem surprised. Tamara smiled and her eyes widened, looking pleasantly surprised, almost proud. Jasper’s eyes widened too, his mouth open like he didn’t mean to.

(Call really can’t say Jasper’s jaw dropped, or something— because that would mean Call changed big time, and he just can’t see that happening.)

“Ta-da~,” Alma sing-songs pleasantly.

Tamara stood up to clap Call on the back, examining his face closer. “Better,” she said. “You were good before, but trust me, now you’re better.”

Gratefully smiling at her, Call almost forgot about everyone else until Jasper cleared his throat. “Try on the outfit,” he said, passing Call their shopping bags.

As Call entered another room, Jasper was waving The Order of Disorder out. Pulling the clothes out of the bags, he raised a brow at the designer brands but wasn’t very surprised. “Have you seen yourself yet?” Tamara asked from the other side of the door, startling him.

“No, not yet.”

“Good. Don’t look yet, I wanna see your face when you first see your glow-up.”

Exiting the room, Call thought he imagined the slight red flush to Jasper’s face. Tamara wolf-whistled at him, smirking lightly.

“C’mon,” she said, pulling him over to a large full-body mirror. “Don’t look yet, don’t look yet… okay, look!”

Call laughed as he opened his eyes, taking himself in. Tamara’s face was smiling in approval, but he was more focused on himself. (Wow,  _ that’s  _ a sentence he’s never thought of before.)

“Fifty percent of my eyebrows are gone.”

Tamara rolled her eyes. “Yeah, the piercings aren’t a big deal.”

“Hey, the piercings are hot and all, but my eyebrows  _ affect  _ me, Tam.”

As they discussed Call’s new look, Jasper sneered in the background. Catching his eye, Call called out to him. “Hey, Jasper! How do I look?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

Jasper only huffed, still not meeting Call’s eyes. “I’ve done better without even trying.”

Wow,” Call said, tone contemptuous but joking, “With your twenty-step beauty routine and team of hairstylists. Not trying at all.”

Jasper’s head whirled around to meet Call’s grey eyes, his own brown ones bright with anger. “Don’t start talking like you know what royalty looks like. You better not forget that you were  _ nothing  _ like a prince until  _ I  _ came. Even then you still act like a slum kid.”

Call felt his blood rush to his face. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Tamara’s brows scrunched up, opening her mouth to say something, but Jasper wasn’t stopping.

“Just because Princess Sarah had you,  _ on accident,  _ doesn’t mean you’re really a prince. I could try as hard as I want, but  _ nothing  _ could change the fact you’ll  _ never  _ be good enough to be a real prince.”

Call got whiplash from the change in the air. He didn’t know what he did to piss him or something, but for a second there, he thought he and Jasper were almost getting used to each other.

“It’s obvious you don’t belong in the  _ upper-class  _ world— you never did.”

Jasper turned to Tamara. “I feel bad that you had to deal with him for so long. I know you must’ve pitied him, he’s way too weird and awkward to make any friends on his own.”

Tamara looked at him, mouth in a thin hard line but eyes blazing furiously. Looking like she’d made a decision, she gave a once-over to the coffee table before picking up a large half-opened bar of chocolate. Quickly peeling the wrapper off so neither boy had time to react, she slabbed the melted chocolate all over Jasper’s face and shirt. Jasper gasped, so surprised he didn’t even try to stop her.

“You’re not the fucking prince, Jasper,  _ Callum is.  _ It’s not about what you’re born as or how  _ social  _ you are, it’s about people who actually give a fuck about other people. I’m so fucking sick of people like you, who think you’re  _ better  _ than everyone— you and your corrupt fucking family,” she spat at him.

She grabbed Call’s hand and pulled hard, dragging him along as she headed for the elevator. “Let’s go, Call.”

* * *

The drive to school in Tamara’s BMW was long and quiet. Call slumped down in his seat, probably bending the doodled-on textbooks in his bag. Tamara didn’t bother talking, she knew Call didn’t want it. She’d passed him her left earbud and settled against his shoulder, playing early 2000’s punk. Perfect background music to his two-day long angst-fest.

After the little Saturday fiasco, he skipped the Sunday tutor session. He thinks that if his uncle asked, he’d have a valid excuse.

Okay, so intellectually, he knows Tamara was right. That Jasper’s just an asshole, a mouth-breather, probably would’ve been a Republican if he was American. Call shouldn’t  _ care  _ so much about the opinions of a guy like him— a guy who, if he believed the earth was flat, could be presented with millions of bytes of data and stubbornly refuse to believe otherwise.

And it’s not really  _ caring _ , per se, more like… thinking. He’s just thinking about it a lot.

Call shouldn’t be thinking about so much when he was expecting something like this from the start. The only reason he’s thinking about it a lot is that he thought they were getting used to each other.

Yeah, he’ll admit it. It’s been a few months since he and Jasper first met— it’s not the first time he’s thought  _ hey, I’ve stopped getting violently furious at this guy and instead highly enraged _ .

Well, almost. He still gets violently furious sometimes.

His thoughts are almost cut off by the car stopping. He hadn’t even noticed they’d arrived at school. Tamara pulled out the earbuds, exiting the car with Call following. She didn’t speak a word, but as they walked into school he still found comfort in the fact she wasn’t leaving his side.

Then his mind goes back to what Jasper said. He wished it’d stop doing that.

On an intellectual level, he knows it doesn’t matter that he’s a bastard—But what if it does? The fucking monarchy, always like that, all blood centred instead of moving onto democracy like everyone else.

So maybe it matters that he’s a bastard, and it probably also matters that he’s not even remotely charismatic, those are both pretty important things in a monarchy.

But more than anything else, he knows the most important thing about a leader is if you care about your people. He’s spent late nights drinking Dr Pepper cursing the names of politicians who didn’t, so he knows it’s something he’s got.

“Call?”

If he wants to be a prince, he’s got that one thing. Only…  _ one  _ thing. Out of at least a hundred. That’s great.

“Call!”

“Huh?” he said, pulled out of his stupor. Tamara looked at him, fake exasperated and genuinely fond.

“I’m disappointed that you haven’t noticed. Watching people’s faces when they saw you was fucking _ funny _ ,” she smiled bemused, hand on her hip.

Call paused. “What?”

“Dude,” she said, “Everybody stared at you when we were walking in. They looked like they were watching their classmate Miley Stewart reveal herself as Hannah Montana.”

He chuckled, taking it as a joke. “Shut the fuck up,” he said jokingly, looking around at everyone else in the hallway. The smile dropped off his face once he realized almost everyone was looking at him. “Uh,” he turned back to her, “What the fuck?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Didn’t I just say, dumbass?” she said, resuming their walk to their lockers. “You got a huge glow-up pretty much overnight. You’re officially hot now, and I’m only telling you this because I know you won’t get a big head from it.”

Call looked at her blankly. “It was just a haircut.”

“You underestimate how bad your hair was before. Plus, you were already like, at least a seven. Piercings and nice hair have power.”

They stopped at their destination, both their lockers being right next to each other. Call stared at the air next to his friend blankly, trying to comprehend the possibility that he was hot.

“I was like, a five at best. I’m skinny as a stick and a little… weird-looking.”

“You can say that again,” He heard her mutter, not really trying to hide it. “And shut  _ up _ , you hike and it shows. I know you didn’t get that strong doing nothing, you butt.”

Before Call can do anything, the bell rings, signifying the fact that they’re officially  _ late  _ to class. They both speed off in opposite directions, the conversation left uncontinued.

* * *

“I’m telling you Call, just because Texas went blue in a book  _ doesn’t  _ mean they can go blue in real life, they haven’t been blue in decades!”

“I’m telling you, Tam, for the sake of the future generations there’s gotta be a goddamn  _ chance,”  _ Call insisted. The path to their normal lunch table was muscle memory at that point, so they were too deeply engrossed in their discussion to see that the table was already occupied by another group of people.

Halfway through another tangent, Call jumped when he felt something tug at his blazer. Looking back, Celia’s bright face beamed at him from her seat at her Popular Friends Table (Or what Call had dubbed the table Celia and Gwenda sat at when they weren’t sitting with him and the others). “Hey, guys!”

She took a second to take Call in, her face changing in an instant. His face pinked at the attention, knowing she was studying his new look intensely. “Oh wow,” she said softly, in a tone that sounded like she didn’t mean to let it out. “Call, you look…”

“You actually look pretty hot,” Gwenda said, her jaw in her hand as she rested her elbow on the table. “Did you actually always look like that, or did you have a magic plastic surgery?”

_ Trust her to be blunt, _ Call thought his face burning red. “Thank you,  _ so much  _ for the compliment,” he said, trying not to let on how bashful he felt. “You guys sitting here today?”

“That’s because no one else is sitting at the other table,” Celia said as she pointed to their usual table, occupied by people that were definitely not their friends. “You guys weren’t here yet, Kai’s sitting with his boyfriend, and Rafe got sick from eating bad Taco Bell yesterday.”

“We wanted to ask you to sit with us,” Gwenda said, gesturing to the half-full table of other popular people. “Our friends here heard people talking about Call’s little transformation, they wanted to meet you.”

Tamara smiled her signature semi-toothy grin that wouldn’t look out of place on a celebrity. “Trust the power of good hair and piercings,” she said, sitting down. She gestured to Call to sit between her and Celia, to which he did despite his red face.

“I see why,” Celia said to him softly, twirling a blonde lock on her finger bashfully. “You look really handso— I mean, cool! You look really cool, Call!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “You think so?”

She smiled, and Call re-remembered just how huge his crush on her was. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Unbeknownst to any of them, there was a blond boy sitting four tables down with people who didn’t really like him, who was looking at Call too.

* * *

A: hey

A: hey

A: hey

C: boi stf

C: what??

A: Talk to me, I’m lonely

C: and also needy lmao

C: shouldn’t u be eating or smth

A: I mean, yes, but I’m done and now I’m bored. Entertain me

C: uh

C: wanna go to the park later and eat hot dogs

C: i can pay for em

A: sure :DDD

“Who’s that?” Celia asked softly, so the others at the table wouldn’t hear her. She was leaning slightly closer to him so she could get a better peek at his screen, but he doubted she could see anything he didn’t want her to.

“Oh, this?” Call answered. “An… online friend, I guess? We met in person a while ago, but I don’t really see him much.” Or at all, to be fair.

“Aw, that’s nice! You must really like him, you smiled a lot just then.”

“Huh?”

* * *

Call used to think that he could almost recognize the path to the tree just from crunching leaves alone. He wonders if he’ll still remember the path to the tree by next fall.

It’s not fall anymore, it’s not even winter. He would mourn  the end of winter if spring wasn’t so damn pretty. Snowfall was  _ spectacular _ in Asheville, and as he walked to French Broad he knew this one would be one of the last.

He’d wondered once if he would still be able to find the tree once the Christmas lights came off, but now he thinks he’s got the spot memorized. He hadn’t been there too many times since getting A’s number, but he still remembers it.

Spotting a pant leg behind the tree, he saw that  A got there early, of course. What would happen if he ever didn’t?

“Hey,” he said, settling down on the other side.

“Hey!” A said, his voice significantly happier than Call’s. “What did you want to call me here for?”

“It’s nice to hear you too,” Call said with a laugh,  holding out the hotdog bun he’d been carrying in his hand. “Hope you like mustard, because there’s no way I was getting you ketchup.”

“I actually like ketchup on my hotdogs,” A said simply, like it wasn’t a total crime.

Call choked, “... _ How?” _

“Isn’t it kind of like barbecue sauce?”

“Ketchup is  _ not  _ like barbecue sauce you heathen—”

Both he and A laughed, unable to stop himself. A said, “I didn’t think you’d actually bring hotdogs. I mean, I was hoping you would, but…”

Call chuckled, “A guy can’t eat hotdogs with his friend he’s never seen before?”

“ You made me nervous!” A chuckled. It sounded nice. That’s all Call’s gonna say about that. “Meeting in person sounds like a big deal now.”

Call smiled. “It’s not really a big deal,” he said. “I did want to talk to you about stuff other than hot dogs though.”

“Like what?”

Call’s smile faltered, feeling the velvet red box in the pocket of his bag.

_ Do something, you idiot,  _ he thought to himself.

_ Literally anything. Ask him to prom, ask him his name, tell him your name _ _ — _

“You were about to tell me a story yesterday before you left to go eat,” Call said, “Tell me more about that one.”

For a second, he thought that maybe it shouldn’t be A that he should give the pendant to. They’d been texting for weeks already— and Call liked talking to him way more than he anticipated he would. He knew him too well to want to “start” a friendship already.

Though, Call guessed, he wouldn’t mind if they were closer.

He wouldn’t mind having him as a best friend. If Call had ever seen his face, he might entertain the thought of more— if he wasn’t already into Celia.

_ Mental cough. _

But Call liked the idea of closer. He wouldn’t mind closer.

“And that’s how I convinced my old foster mom to never buy a garden gnome again.”

Call laughed, “That concluding line reminds me of that time I accidentally set a litter of ferrets on this music festival by the river. Not from the similarity between the stories, but probably because of how proud I am for it.”

“Hey, listen,” Call said. “I did actually ask you here for something else. Other than just to talk.”

A gave a soft  _ oh  _ as Call  pulled out the velvet red box and set it by A’s side of the tree. “Here,” Call said. A made an inquisitive sound, and Call thought it was cute. So there’s that.

A hand about the same size as Call’s took the box gently, sweeping it out of his sight in one smooth motion. Lightly tanned skin was complemented by the brown colour of a bracelet, one he couldn’t see well. He found himself fixating on its elegance, more than he thought was normal. So there’s that too.

A’s silence seemed to go on for ages, though Call knew it must’ve been less than five seconds. He wondered whether A had already opened it, and was examining quietly. “Is this a ring box?” A said, surprising Call. “What, are you proposing? Seems a little fast when you haven’t seen my face yet.”

“Just open it, I’m getting impatient,” Call said, half a laugh.

A went quiet again, before Call heard a small gasp. “Oh,” he said, voice tiny. Call’s fingers fidgeted with the soft silk of his tie.

When A spoke again, Call could hear the smile in his voice, “Woah… it’s beautiful.”

Call coughed awkwardly, “That’s… good. That’s really good.”

“What’s the enamel thing on the box? Is this… Genovia, or something?”

“Oh, yeah it is.” Call answered, “Have I already told you I’m Genovian?”

“You haven’t,” A laughed. “It’s really pretty,” he said before Call heard the box snap shut. The same lightly tanned hand returned it to him.

The action made him pause. “Dude… What?”

“What? Here’s it back.” A said, waving the box in the air.

“You don’t like it?” Call said, trying and failing to suppress the hurt in his voice.

“Of course I do, I just said so.”

“Then why are you giving it back if you like it?”

“Wait,” A said. He seemed to pause, his hand dropping. “You mean, you want me to…  _ keep it?” _

“…Yeah?”

“What? No way!” A exclaimed. “This is— this has to be expensive, right? I-it looks so real!  _ And it’s heavy!” _

Call rolled his eyes bemusedly, “If I was offered an expensive piece of jewellery as a gift, I think I’d be a lot happier about it.”

“I can’t keep this, C. Is it actually real? It must’ve cost so much—” A rambled on.

_ “Dude,” _ Call groaned. “Can you just accept it? It’s not like I can take it back.”

“But it’s so pretty…” A said. “You at least have to let me give you something back.” Call heard the sound of hands thumping softly over clothes, realizing A must be patting himself down for something. “Shit, I don’t have anything to give you—”

“You really don’t need to,” Call said.

“No way, I’d feel really bad if I let you give this to me—” A said, sounding frustrated. “Uh, here then. Take my bracelet.” Before Call knew it, A’s elegant hand offered him a brown bracelet, the one he must’ve been wearing since his wrist was now naked. “Sorry, I know it’s not the same…”

It was a more masculine, rustic style that Call expected from a guy like A. The caramel-coloured wooden beads and leather cord felt nice on his skin. “No, I like it.” Call smiled like he didn’t know he was doing it. “Hey, didn't you once tell me about a bracelet like this you made? Is this the one?”

“Yeah, it is." A said, his voice a little proud. He should be, the bracelet felt perfect. “It’s pretty basic, but it’s different from every other bracelet in the world. I could tell.”

“What if we see each other wearing these in public? What then?”

A laughed, “I think that sounds fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> call me a coward but in my world Jasper isn't gonna make an ableist comment about Call. that's gonna take a much longer time to forgive, which is time we do not have in this fanfiction lol.
> 
> i love comments, so don't feel at all afraid to leave one, or even more! if you like this story, it'd mean so much to me if you left kudos :))


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